


I’m Only Me When I’m With You

by Orlissa



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: #33 Coulson centric, #35 Cal centric, #76, #78, Based on Songs, Drabbles, F/M, FitzSimmons in drabble #27, Huntingbird in #51, Huntingbird in drabble #43, It's gonna be so much fun, More characters and relationships to be added as we progress, Philharmonic in #46, Taylor Swift - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:11:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 95
Words: 42,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3323651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orlissa/pseuds/Orlissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How do you know you're in love?" "All the songs make sense." Castle, 3.04. Mainly, but not excusively Skyeward drabbles based on each and every Taylor Swift song. Updated daily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Know Places

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I've seen a lot of Skyeward graphics using lyrics from 1989 on Tumblr recently, and then one day I was listening to I Almost Do, and it occurred to me that this song could be an amazing base for a Skyeward fic – then one thought followed the other, and I was like "well, I'm sure all Taylor Swift songs could be used for a Skyeward/AoS fic", and since I've done something similar in the past (1000 Vampire Academy drabbles in the course of nearly three years), I said to myself "why not?", and decided to make it into a drabble series.
> 
> How is this gonna look like? I'm going to update everyday (at least that's the plan), and every drabble will be based on a song – I'll either use its main essence and/or highlight some parts of the lyrics and work with those. I'll use every Taylor Swift song (even the non-album ones, e.g. Sweeter Than Fiction, but I might not have all of those, so if you know of a song I might have missed, please, contact me), but in a completely random order (so random that I have all the song titles written on tiny pieces of paper, all put in a little bag, and I'll always draw the next song from it). Not all the drabbles will focus on Skyeward, but I plan the majority of them to feature them. If you know my VA drabbles, you know the drill: usually I can be swayed, if you want to read about a certain character/couple, tell me, and I'll try to write about them (but I have my limits: I'm okay with practically every at least semi-canon AoS ships, but please, don't ask for Skimmons, for example – but Skimmons friendship is completely fine!).
> 
> These kind of stories are good for me because they force me into a routine to write everyday (and damn, I need that routine) and because they keep my creativity sharp. And they are good for you because you get an update everyday and… I hope you'll like them?
> 
> If you have any further questions/requests, please, don't hesitate to ask.
> 
> So, without any further ado, I present the first drabble.
> 
> Disclaimer: [Insert funny text here that tells you I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. or the lyrics used in the stories.]

**I Know Places**

_Baby, I know places we won't be found_   
_And they'll be chasing their tails tryin' to track us down_   
_Cause I, I know places we can hide_   
_I know places, I know places_

Grant Ward has never been a person who runs and hides – no, he has always been the one who faces the threats, fights the battles and wins them. But now a part of him – a part that’s growing bigger and bigger everyday – wants the get out of here, away from the Bus, away from S.H.I.E.L.D., because if the whispers are true everything is going to go to hell damn soon and damn fast, and he doesn’t want to be here when it happens.

He doesn’t want _her_ to be here when it happens.

He wants to whisk her away, wants to hide her in a place HYDRA will never be able to touch her.

He formulates a new plan every single day. He has contacts and safe houses all over the globe – he could take her to Moscow, to Florence, to Beijing. He thinks she’d like Budapest. They could stay low, stay unseen, at least until the dust settles. Until either party emerges victorious, or the two beasts of organizations kill each other in battle.

They could have a semi-normal life. Or at least pretend to have one. Maybe they could be happy.

Yet, as much as he plans and daydreams and wishes, he does nothing. He stays where he is, because of John, because his debt to him, and because… He knows Skye’d hate him if she knew the real him.

And yet whenever she smiles at him the urge to hide her away from all the ugliness of the world flares up in him once again.


	2. Wildest Dreams

_I said, "No one has to know what we do,"_   
_His hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room_   
_And his voice is a familiar sound,_   
_Nothing lasts forever but this is getting good now_

Stall

This is her first thought when she’s done crying. Play innocent and naïve and willing, and stall him, distract him, so the others might, just might can get back before…

She stops there.

Distract him. She can do that. She’s learned from the best.

So she washes her face, tries on a fake smile and seeks him out.

It’s not hard to find him (she somehow always seems to know where he is). Not hard to look into his eyes and say that he scared her (he did, for oh so many reasons). Not hard to stand on her toes to kiss him (her lips are longing for the touch of his). Not hard to bury her fingers in his hair (she’s wanted to do it for such a long time). Not hard to deepen the kiss (her heartbeat quickens). Not hard to make him believe she wants him (because she does).

He buys it.

“No-one has to know,” she whispers into his ear as he tugs at her locks, breathlessly searching for her lips.

She leads him into one of the bedrooms, and he lets her, picking her up once they are inside, then – surprisingly gently – placing her on the bed, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as he unbuttons her shirt.

All the while she keeps playing her part, focusing on his hands, his lips, his voice, everything but the man who is hiding behind the mask she now knows he wears.

It’s surprisingly easily, and it should bother her, but it doesn’t, not really.

But it still hurts – because it feels so amazing. And she still hates him – because she just can’t stop loving him.

(Afterwards, when he’s on the verge of falling asleep while she’s caressing his head, she can’t help but hope that no matter where they go from there, he’ll always remember this night. That he’ll remember, and so he’ll know what he’s lost.)


	3. Tied Together With a Smile

_I guess it's true that love was all you wanted  
Cause you're giving it away like it's extra change_

Skye’s a wildcard, an unknown variable, so he pays extra attention to her – to her behavior, to her habits, to her thought process.

What he sees surprises him a little.

He sees love, pouring out of her in small doses. It’s there as she chats with Simmons about something silly, laughing into her palm. It’s there as she casually reaches out to right Fitz’s tie while listening to him babble about something. It’s there as she makes sure there’s coffee left for Coulson when he spends hours holed up in his office, doing the paperwork. It’s there as she watches May doing Tai Chi from a safe distance, unfiltered respect and awe in her eyes.

It’s there when she sasses him during training with a twinkle in her eyes, when she sticks her tongue at him as soon as his back is turned.

It befuddles him at first – how can someone who was so deprived of love in childhood (just like him) have so much of it to give away?

Then he understands – her need to be loved is the exact reason of why she is so loving. Giving and receiving, that’s what keeps her together.

But he can see the cracks behind her smile.

(He swears to himself he’ll do everything to keep her from shattering.)

_And you're tied together with a smile  
But you're coming undone_


	4. Mary's Song

“Okay, okay, let’s see… First love?” Skye asks with a wide, carefree grin on her face while drawing nonsensical patterns on his bare chest with the tip of her finger.

Grant lets out a breathy laugh as he tilts his head back and covers his face with his hand.

“Um… Jenny Miller, I think. Third grade.” He says, his voice muffled by his fingers.

His answer earns him a playful smack on the shoulder.

“Not me?”

“No, sorry.” He lifts his hand and sneaks a peek at her, his eyes twinkling. “I can’t just forget what I had with Jenny. It was true love. I wanted to marry her.” He says this in such a serious manner and straight face, that Skye laughs out loud, then she rests her head on his chest and cuddles up to him, one arm lying across his abdomen and one leg thrown over his thigh. Once she’s settled, his hand moves almost on its own accord and buries itself in her hair, playing with her curls, which she rewards with a content sigh.

“I don’t believe in that kind of love,” she says after a short while.

“What kind of love?”

“Where you meet as kids, grow up together, fall in love, and then grow old together. It’s just… silly. And anticlimactic.

“Anticlimatic?” he asks, raising his head to look into her eyes.

“Yes. Where’s the struggle? Where are the obstacles? Where’s the passion? I get why it is such a romantic idea, but it still seems so damn simple and boring, falling in love like that.”

He hums in agreement, closing his eyes for a moment to let her words sink in.

“And what about everlasting love? The kind where after an epic struggle and terrible obstacles the lovers share a passionate love until they grow old together?”

He feels her smile as she presses a kiss to the warm skin of his chest.

“That one I believe in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No direct quotes this time – I felt like it would have been too easy just to simply follow the story the song tells, so instead I tried to focus on the overall idyllic atmosphere. And who doesn’t love some cute pillow talk?


	5. Clean

_Ten months sober, I must admit,  
Just because you’re clean don’t mean you don’t miss it_

At first it feels like she’s an addict in withdrawal.

After they arrive at the Playground, during those first weeks, barely a moment passes without her thinking of him. It’s excruciating. It drives her mad.

Everything reminds her of him – training with May makes her think of their lessons in the cargo bay. When the clean out the galley, getting rid of everything that broke during the shooting at the Hub, she finds the mug he always drank his coffee in the mornings (it’s untouched; she breaks it and throws it out). She can’t pass by his bunk without wanting to fall into his bed, wrap herself in the covers, breath in his scent and forget about everything. He seems to be everywhere. (It doesn’t help that he’s actually at the base, hidden away in the basement.)

It hurts. More than she thinks she can bear.

But it gets better. Slowly, but it does.

The pain doesn’t go away, but it fades. Months pass, and one day she realizes it doesn’t define her anymore.

But she still misses him. Misses what they had. What they could have had.

(And never stops asking: _why?_ )


	6. Last Kiss

_I do recall now the smell of the rain_   
_Fresh on the pavement_   
_I ran off the plane_   
_That July 9 th_   
_The beat of your heart_   
_It jumps through your shirt_   
_I can still feel your arms_

It’s hard to decide what to do: forget him entirely or focus only on the good memories?

Her mind tells her to forget him – that’s the healthiest. Forget him, forget her ties to him, forget his lies to her.

But her heart has other plans.

During the night, all alone and vulnerable, she can’t help but think of him. She can’t help but remember the good times.

Like when, last July, he went on a solo mission, leaving them on the plane waiting for him, and six hours in, his comms went dead. At first, she tried to be optimistic, telling herself while walking in circles in the cargo bay and biting her nails that it’s just a technical problem and that he’d be alright. That he’d come back.

But as the hours passed and the rain started to fall, her hope faded and she slipped into denial.

And then he came back – battered and exhausted but victorious.

The moment she saw him walking towards the Bus, she forgot about everything, dropped everything, and ran to him, jumping into his arms.

He caught her.

His arms wound around her instantly, pulling her close, tucking her under his chin, and she could feel his heartbeat under her cheek.

And she was just so relieved, so happy to have him back that a sob tore free from her throat, and then, standing in the rain, she started laughing, because he was _back_ and he was _okay_ , and he laughed with her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Sometimes her body still remembers how it felt to be held by him.

And even though her mind knows it would be the best to just let him go, her heart just won’t accept that it’s over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: When I started this I didn’t realize it would be so angsty. Now I need fluff. Bad.


	7. Untouchable

_Untouchable like a distant diamond sky_   
_I'm reaching out and I just can't tell you why_   
_I'm caught up in you, I'm caught up in you_

Skye’s sitting on the counter, talking to him about some kind of movie she likes and he’s intrigued enough to turn away from his half-made sandwich, but damn, he has no idea what she’s actually talking about, because he’s distracted by _her_.

The way the lights bring out the golden tone in her hair and how her locks fall down her back, almost begging him to bury his fingers in them. The way her eyes twinkle and her lips move, so full of life and wonder. The way she just can’t keep still, gesturing wildly with her hands and swinging her legs back and forth.

She’s mesmerizing, so mesmerizing that he forgets about himself for a moment, forgets about his mission – it’s something that has never happened to him before, and it should scare him, but…

But how could something this amazing be bad?

His thoughts wander – what would she do if he caught her hands to still her, to feel her soft skin under his fingertips? What would she do if he just walked over to her and kissed her? What would she do is he pulled her into his arms and held her close? What would she do if he whispered into her ears about how much he adored her, how much he wanted her? What would she do if he asked her to let him be hers?

He wants to do so many things with her, to her, for her, but…

“Hey, Robot, are you okay?” Skye steps to him and places her hand (her skin really is that soft) on his forehead, half mockingly, half in concern. “You seemed a little out of it for a moment.”

“Sure, it’s just…” Here’s his chance to confess – his feelings, his mission. But he doesn’t. “We have training in an hour. Don’t forget it.”

And with that, he turns back to his sandwich.

It’s the best thing he can do – for himself and for her. He must not taint her.

(She’s so close, yet beyond his reach.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I actually had a hard time choosing the bit of lyrics for the motto, because damn, this song is totally as if Grant was talking about Skye. Still not quite fluff, but getting there.


	8. Speak Now

“Let’s elope.”

Skye’s suggestion is only met with a comically raised eyebrow, which frustrates her and makes her anxious at the same time.

“I’m serious. This whole wedding thing is a bad idea.” She recognizes her mistake the moment the words leave her mouth and backtracks quickly before Grant could misinterpret her statement. “I mean not the tying the knot part – you know I wanna marry you.” She steps up to him and runs her hands up and down his biceps. “I just don’t think we should make a big deal out of it. Why not just get over with it”

He sighs, but his eyes soften as his arms encircle her.

“We aren’t making a big deal, it’s just… why are you so against it?”

She closes her eyes and buries her head in the crook of his neck, letting out a quiet groan.

“It’s nothing, I… I just have all these stupid fears.”

He pulls away slightly, gently takes her chin and angles her head upwards so he can look into her eyes.

“Tell me.”

Her lips quiver a little at first, but then she starts talking.

“What if some woman from your past comes to the ceremony and stands up at the “speak now” part?”

“Like I would ever choose somebody over you.”

“What if I turn out to be a complete bridezilla and drive everybody crazy?”

“May’d knock some sense into you before letting things go that far. And I’m more afraid of Jemma going overboard.”

“What if you get abducted just before the wedding?”

“That only happens in movies and TV shows, believe me.”

“But what if…”

He places a finger on her mouth, silencing her, and when he sees that she’ll let him talk, he softly rubs the tip of his finger along her lips.

“Skye, I’ve done so many things wrong in my life, but this is one thing I want to do right, as it should be done. I don’t just want to get a paper that says that we are married – I want to make it special, something to remember. I want to wait for you at the end of the aisle. I want you to have Coulson lead you to me, and want him to be there for you, to give you away. I want my heart skip a beat when I first see you in your dress. I want to stumble through my vows because I’m so excited and nervous and happy that I just can’t get my words straight. I want all our friends watch as I slip the ring on your finger. And, first and foremost, I want, and I can’t wait, to finally kiss you when you’re my wife. I want all this – I want to do it right. Can you do it for me?”

There are tears in her eyes but a smile on her face.

“A dress, Coulson, kissing in front of everybody – you I can do that,” she lets out a teary laugh. “But you have to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“If a woman does come to take you away, you’ll have to ignore her.”

His only answer is to kiss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Again, some free interpretation, but I did deliver the fluff – what fluff, it wasn’t simply fluff, it was FLUFF. You’re welcome.


	9. Mean

_You, with your words like knives  
And swords and weapons that you use against me_

_Nerd_. A simple word with a simple meaning. It shouldn’t even be taken as a prerogative, as it alludes to superior intelligence, but it still hurts. Not even the word itself, not really, but the way it is said – with disgust, with malice, with meanness.

“What makes you think you can sit with us, _nerd_?”

Gemma, for once, has no answer for the question, so she simply turns around with downcast eyes, and, once again, eats her lunch alone.

It’s okay, she tells herself. She doesn’t need them. She’s used to being alone.

But it still hurts.

_You have knocked me off my feet again  
Got me feeling like I'm nothing_

Leo lands hard on the concrete, hitting his elbow and letting out a pained groan, as his backpack lands next to him, the old, faulty zipper giving in, spilling the bag’s contents on the pavement. He moves instinctively towards his belongings – he’s been  knocked over “accidentally” enough times to have developed a routine – to stuff them back into the backpack before his tormentor can get to them, but he’s too slow.

The boy who knocked him over picks up a strange object, an almost surreal mix of cables, wires and scrap metal from the ground, handling it roughly.

“What the hell is this?” He asks, more from himself than from Leo as he turns it over in his hand, maybe looking for the turn on button. Leo’s just about to answer – he knows that the boy’s just taunting him, but he still can’t help the excitement he feels over his creations –, when the boy grabs a part of the machine, yanks it, and manages to break the whole thing in half. “Whatever. It’s broken.” He shrugs, and tosses it to the ground, right in front of Leo.

He picks it up, misty eyed – he can tell right away it’s beyond repair.

He tells himself he’s too old to cry.

_You, with your voice like nails on a chalkboard  
Calling me out when I'm wounded_

Skye’s in detention – again, even though she’s been this school for only a month and it wasn’t even her fault –, and is trying very hard no to listen to what the girls behind her are saying.

She fails, of course.

They’re gossiping about her – about that poor foster kid, who’s so pathetic nobody wants her (her throat tightens). Who’s so stupid that she was kicked out of her last school, and who’s failing again ( _you_ try keeping up your grades when you’re relocated every three months). Who went down on Tom Williams for a cigarette (which is stupid, she doesn’t even smoke). Who doesn’t have normal clothes and only a pair of tattered sneakers for hoes, because she spends her government-given allowance on drugs (she’s seen what drugs do to people at the orphanage; she wants none of that).

She grips her pencil and tries to concentrate on her homework.

But it’s damn hard when she can barely see from her tears.

_You picking on the weaker man  
You can take me down with just one single blow_

When it first starts, Grant tries to stand his ground. He tries to say no.

At first he’s determined not to let Christian order him around.

But he’s older and taller and stronger, so he doesn’t even stand a chance.

When he refuses to hurt Thomas (why would he hurt his little brother? He loves him), Christian hurts him.

Yanks at his ear, twists his arm, kicks his shin, punches him in the stomach. And he does all this with such a talent that he manages to inflict great pain on Grant without leaving any marks – at least none he can’t explain. (A bruise on the leg? _We were playing football, mother._ An achy arm? _He hurt it on the jungle gym, mother._ )

It doesn’t actually take much to get him give up and give in. To turn from tormented into tormentor. To do Christian’s bidding. (He’s weak and a coward and he lets them hollow him out.)

But he promises himself – one day, one day when he’s strong enough, he’ll make all this right.

_Someday I'll be big enough so you can't hit me  
And all you're ever gonna be is mean_


	10. Our Song

It’s well past midnight when there’s a soft knock on his bunk door.

He’s not surprised – not at all; in fact, he’s been waiting for this, so a small (some would say lovestruck) smile appears on his face as he stands up to open the door.

It’s Skye standing on the other side, her hair in a careless braid, clad only in an oversized T-shirt (one he recognizes as his), her long, lithe thighs left bare.

“Hiya, stranger,” she whispers with a conspiratory smile before raising herself to the tip of her toes to give him a soft, teasing kiss. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to grab her waist, pull her close and kiss her until she doesn’t remember her own name – not that this feeling is new; he has been fighting it for the last couple of months on a daily basis.

But he has to admit, there’s some appeal in sneaking around – an untamed excitement, coupled with the thrilling fear of getting caught. It’s almost as if he was a teenager, sneaking a girl into his bedroom without his parents knowing. He loves it.

The kiss ends way too soon for his liking – Skye pulls away gently, then steps past him, into his bunk, and sits on his bed as he softly closes the door.

It’s not the most spacious bed he’s ever slept in, but Skye’s tiny, and they make it work – most nights she sleeps half next to him, half on top of him, not that he has any problems with it. Tonight, too, as he lies on his back, she settles with her hips on the mattress, but one of her legs thrown over his and her head resting on his chest.

He just can’t resist sliding one hand up her thigh, while his other gently frees her hair from her braid, then he buries his fingers in her silky locks. She lets out a content sigh and nuzzles closer to him in response to his ministrations.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says after a moment, her voice already sleep-tinged, her body completely relaxed in his arms. “About what could be our song.” It’s a recurring theme in their conversations as of late – something that never ceases to amaze him. “What are your feelings towards ‘A Whole New World’?”

He smiles softly, caressing her hair.

“I don’t know that one.”

She lets out a strangled noise against his skin.

“Remind me tomorrow to show you _Aladdin_ , ‘kay?” Her words are getting quieter with every word.

“Okay,” he promises, although he’s almost sure she’s already fallen asleep. He presses a kiss on the top of her head. “Sweet dreams, love.”


	11. This Love

_This love is good, this love is bad_   
_This love is alive back from the dead_   
_These hands had to let it go free_   
_And this love came back to me_

“You know, I was thinking we could get a drink – you and me. If you’re not too busy, that’s it.”

At first Grant barely dares to believe he’s heard her right, and her uncertain, almost shy question leaves him speechless for a moment.

After all they’ve been through, the surge of feelings on his part in the beginning, her tentative reciprocation of his affections right before everything went South, then her blooming hate for him in the aftermath of the HYDRA reveal, the months of anguish and loneliness, the cold looks and hurtful words, bad decisions and angry bullets (a phantom pain still haunts his side from time to time), and then silence and distance, and, finally, starting their individual journeys back to each other, but still keeping a respectful, professional distance… After all this, he didn’t think they’d ever get to this point.

He stopped hoping a long time ago that they would get to this point.

And yet… She surprised him, once again.

He lets his lips curve into a hint of a smile.

“I’d like that.”

She smiles back at him, something wonderful glimmering in her eyes.

(That night, after their drinks, he asks her if she’d like to go out to have dinner with him some time. When she says yes, he knows it’s just the beginning.)


	12. All Too Well

_'Cause there we are again in the middle of the night.  
We're dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light_

She wakes in the middle of the night to a growling stomach. She’s almost annoyed by it – by him, because let’s face it, it’s his fault –, but then she remembers the reason why she’s starving and settles for a smile instead.

She gently extracts herself from his arms – who would have thought that Grant Ward was a cuddler? –, slips on his discarded shirt and tiptoes out of the room, hoping she won’t wake him.

In the kitchen she barely opens the fridge door, looking for some leftover food (if she won’t find any, she thinks, she’ll settle for some Nutella), when a pair of strong, warm arms wrap around her middle.

“I woke up, and you were gone,” he says, his voice a little sleepy, his face nuzzled against her neck, his breath tickling her skin. She lets out a giggle.

“I was hungry – you worked up my appetite.”

She feels his smug grin against her neck. Suddenly a lot more awake, he presses a hot, open mouthed kiss to where her neck and shoulder meet, licking the skin, while he starts swaying slowly to some kind of music he only can hear, moving her hips in tandem with his. She sighs in bliss.

“Now that you mention it, I’m starving, too. “And, just to prove his point, he gently bits into her flesh, making her gasp.

“I see where your mind’s at,” she says, turning around in his arms, kissing him on the lips. “And I like it, but let me actually eat something first.” One last peck, and she turns back to the fridge, grabbing a plate of cheese, then, without closing the fridge door, she starts back towards their room.

She doesn’t miss him grabbing a can of whipped cream before following her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Although the song is technically about a past idyll turned to heartbreak, I really loved this bit of lyrics (it was calling to me), so I went with it and turned the whole drabble into fluff. I’m not even sorry.


	13. Safe & Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This one takes place in an AU where Ward’s with S.H.I.E.L.D. when Skye goes through the Terrigenesis.

_Just close your eyes_   
_The sun is going down_   
_You'll be alright_   
_No one can hurt you now_   
_Come morning light_   
_You and I'll be safe and sound_

She’s broken and terrified and scared, and he has no idea how to help.

And it’s killing him.

He still stays with her, even in isolation, not even hearing the others’ cautious, warning words. He stays by her side all through it, holding her when it gets too much, when the room starts to shake. He pulls her close, caresses her hair, and murmurs sweet nothings, gentle encouragements and words of love into her ears, until she finally calms down and cries herself to sleep.

He knows that life goes on outside of the glass doors of the isolation room. He knows that’s all a mess: HYDRA’s panicking, in override after Whitehall’s death, lashing out day after day, completely unpredictable. The situation at the base is no better – Trip’s absence is painfully felt, and everyone’s in unease because of what happened in San Juan, and because of Skye’s condition.

But, for the first time in his life, he’s not out there, trying to rein the situation, trying to bring order into the chaos. No, he’s here, because Skye needs him more. And he needs her to be okay. He needs to get her back, because he’s lost without her.

So he lies down next to her on the narrow hospital bed, holds her hands in his, promises her that he won’t let anything hurt her, and hums a lullaby he doesn’t even remember where he learnt into her ears, hoping that she’ll be better once she wakes.


	14. Should've Said No

_And I should've been there in the back of your mind_   
_I shouldn't be asking myself, "Why?"_   
_You shouldn't be begging for forgiveness at my feet..._   
_You should've said "No", baby, and you might still have me_

"I’m sorry.”

These are his first words to her when he arrives back – is let back – at the base. It’s not a permanent situation, Coulson made that abundantly clear for him – he’s only welcome until they resolve the current situation at hand. And maybe that’s why he didn’t waste any time to seek her out.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, when all Skye does at his words is to stop mid-step, in the middle of the corridor, her back to him. “I know I once told you that I’m not asking for forgiveness, but…” He sighs.  “I’m sorry. For everything. If I could, I’d go back and do everything differently.” Ever so cautiously, he steps closer to her and places his hand on her shoulder. “I miss you.”

She shrugs his hand off.

“Yeah, well, I don’t.”

Her words sting like the bullets she hit him with.

“Skye, I know I can’t undone–”

“You sure as hell can’t.” This time she turns towards him. “You had once chance to do things right, Ward, one damn chance, and you fucked it up. Because you so had to follow that psycho, when you could’ve had a family here. When you could have chosen us. When you could have had me. And now… now you’re sorry. Wow. It’s rich of you.”

He casts his eyes down, suddenly unable to meet her gaze.

“I know. But I still want you to know that I regret what I did.”

She’s quiet for a length of an infinite heartbeat.

“Well, I don’t,” she says, then turns around, and leaves him there, in the middle of the corridor, all alone.

She barely gets to her room before she breaks down crying.


	15. A Perfectly Good Heart

_Maybe I should've seen the signs, should've read the writing on the wall._   
_And realized by the distance in your eyes that I would be the one to fall._   
_No matter what you say, I still can't believe_   
_That you would walk away._   
_It don't make sense to me._

Skye’s aware that it’s wrong and unhealthy, but she couldn’t care less – she hides in _his_ bunk, sitting on _his_ bed, wrapping _his_ blanket around herself, inhaling in _his_ scent (it’s strange – she has never before realized how much she loved his scent).

It’s Jemma, sweet Jemma, broken in her own way, who finds her a couple of hours later. She doesn’t say a word, just slips into the bunk, presses a mug of hot chocolate into her hands, sits down next to her and lays her head on Skye’s shoulder.

For the longest time, neither of them says a thing.

“I should have known it.”

“Skye…”

“No, I really should have. I spent the most time with him, I knew him best, I should have seen…” But she can’t finish the sentence. Even now, knowing who Grant Ward really is, she just can’t find a moment in their shared past where he gave her any clue that he was anything but honest with her.

He was just that good.

“Don’t blame yourself. Blame him! He’s the one who played us, who made us–“ She stops for a moment, her throat tightening. “He’s the one to blame, no-one else.”

Skye doesn’t reply; she just holds the mug close to her chest, her eyes downcast, her eyes settled at the warm brown liquid. The surface trembles as one of her tears fall into the cocoa.

A painful sob breaks through her chest.

“I kissed him first.”


	16. Better Than Revenge

_The story starts when it was hot and it was summer and..._   
_I had it all, I had him right there where I wanted him_   
_She came along, got him alone and let's hear the applause_   
_She took him faster than you could say "sabotage"_

_I never saw it coming, wouldn't have suspected it_   
_I underestimated just who I was dealing with_   
_She had to know the pain was beating on me like a drum_   
_She underestimated just who she was stealing from_

Garrett was raging – under the surface, contained, but ready to lash out.

He was aware of Grant’s abilities – damn, he trained the kid –, was sure of his loyalty, but still preferred to keep an eye on him, just in case (he had broken him in well, but you can never know with these hero types when they have a sudden change of heart and decide morality means more than a debt).

And damn well he did that, because otherwise he wouldn’t have realized that fifteen years of hard work was about to go to waste – destroying his chance of survival in the process –, and why? Because of some little slut with big doe eyes Coulson’d taken in on a whim.

He gripped his glass and threw his whiskey back.

Of course he’d seen the change in the kid – minimal contact is one thing, barely reaching out to him, and even then giving basically nothing other than “Coulson knows nothing about his resurrection” is another. Being reluctant to talk about his “teammates”, not wanting to give out their weaknesses is yet another. Going downright defensive when he asked about Coulson’s latest lapdog is yet another.

He poured himself another drink.

Of course he should’ve seen it coming. The kid’d always been way too soft, no matter how hard he tried train it out of him – it was just the matter of time until he fell for some pretty thing. Now, usually, he’d have no problem with that – let the kid have his fun, have her on her back, get her out of his system. He was a man, a healthy, red-blooded man with a pulse, after all.

Now, the problem here started that Grant was doing none of it – no, he was just pining after this girl, longing for her like some kind of lovesick puppy. And that made Garrett want to throw up. And, furthermore, it was starting to compromise Grant’s mission, because some twisted neuron in his mind was slowly coming to the conclusion that the girl was more important than the debt he owned him.

He hadn’t even met the girl yet, but he was kind of impressed by how she’d enchanted Grant – and he already hated her for it.

Garrett took a sip from his third drink, his mouth twisting into a cruel smile.

It was time to end Grant’s infatuation and liquidate that girl.

And if he got closer to whatever brought Coulson back to life in the process? Well, then two points for him.


	17. You Are in Love

_Morning, his place_   
_Burnt toast, Sunday_   
_You keep his shirt_   
_He keeps his word_

Maybe the best thing about Sundays is that, when they are off-mission, he lets her sleep in. Sometimes he stays with her until her eyes open, and then she wakes to his gaze fixed on her, his brown orbs overflowing with adoration, then, when she blinks, shaking off the last fragments of her dream, he leans in and softly kisses her, saying hello. Sometimes he’s gone by the time she wakes – off to the bathroom, off to the gym, off to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, never too far.

This day belongs to the latter kind.

She wakes up alone, tangled up in the duvet, his side of the bed already cool. She doesn’t get up right away – she pulls the covers even closer, enjoying how soft they are against her bare skin, and sighs in contentment. She almost calls for him – she can hear him moving around in the kitchen –, but, in the end, she decides against it.

She needs coffee first. And she’s kind of hungry.

She pushes the covers off and stands up, looking for the shirt he discarded the night before – she’s not ashamed of her nudity, but the room’s a bit chilly, and she wants to have his scent close to her. She finally finds the garment fallen to the floor next to the armchair – she picks it up, and slips the soft cotton over her head, inhaling deeply.

Her bare feet barely make any sound as she walks into the kitchen, but he still hears her – it might be his training, or the simple fact that he’s so attuned to her now that he can feel her presence.

She’d like to think it’s the latter.

He’s standing over the stove, with his back to her, working on something in a pan (based on the smell, some kind of eggs), but he turns around as soon as she steps over the threshold. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t even need to, because everything she needs to know is right there in his smile.

She can’t help but return that smile as she steps up to him, puts her arms around his waist and buries her face in his chest. She feels his chin on the top of her head, and it’s the most comfortable she’s ever been.

He lets her go after an infinite moment.

“I made you coffee,” he says, reaching for the mug waiting for her on the counter. “Eggs and toast should be done in a minute.”

She takes a step back, only one small step, she won’t move further away from him, accepts the mug and takes a sip of the warm, sweet liquid. Three sugars, just as she likes it.

She glances up at over the rim of the mug. There’s something vibrating with excitement under her skin, something she has to say out loud, something she has to ask.

She puts the mug down on the counter and softly clears her throat.

“Grant…” She starts, her voice smooth. “About last night – did you mean it?”

He looks at her, his eyes wide, his pupils almost swallowing the brown of his irises. He completely stills for a moment before answering.

“Of course. I love you. And I want to marry you.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then she smiles.

The next moment she is kissing him.

The toast gets burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, it turned out even fluffier than I originally intended, but I don’t regret it. This chapter is dedicated to little_angry_kitten18 – I hope this little fluffiness will help you cheer up a bit.


	18. Shake It Off

_But I keep cruising_   
_Can't stop, won't stop grooving_   
_It's like I got this music_   
_In my mind_   
_Saying, "It's gonna be alright."_

“Honestly, how do you do it?” The question is out before he could tell his mouth stop.

Skye looks at him, startled for a moment – maybe she doesn’t understand the question, maybe she’s shocked by how straightforward it is –, then gives him a small, adorable shrug.

“I just do.”

She astonishes him, she really does – she’s just been chewed on by S.H.I.E.L.D. superiors, for something she didn’t even commit (he knows the story of how _Jemma_ shot Sitwell with the ICER, and damn, he’s kind of proud of her), for who she is, for what she does, and for how undeserving is to be in S.H.I.E.L.D.

And an hour later here she is, dancing around the galley, preparing dinner.

“I learnt a long time ago not to stress over every bit of criticism and badmouthing,” she continues. “Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes they get to me and then I hide away with a big bowl of ice cream topped with chocolate and a season of _The Big Bang Theory,_ and end up crying it all out. But more often than not I just shake it off and remind myself that there are people whose words I should listen to, because I care about them, and there people I shouldn’t give a damn about.” She finishes her sandwich and starts putting away the leftover stuff. “And sorry, but those guys don’t make the cut – as I see it they are not in the position to tell me my worth.”

With the galley tidied up, her dinner done, she grabs her plate and, having finished her monologue, she starts walking towards her bunk, leaving him at the counter. He’s just about to leave himself, when she, standing at the door of her bunk, turns back for a moment, clearing her throat to make him look at her.

“Oh, by the way, Agent Ward,” she says with a hint of a smile. “Just to make it clear: you make the cut.”


	19. The Outside

_So how can I ever try to be better?_   
_Nobody ever lets me in_   
_I can still see you, this ain't the best view_   
_On the outside looking in_

Dear Skye,

I assume you won’t even get this letter, and even if you do, you’ll probably tear it up as soon as you see it’s from me. But a man can hope, right?

I just… I don’t even know why I am writing to you. I know I can’t expect forgiveness, especially for just a letter, but… I just want you to understand.

I didn’t want any of this happen, but I owned John, and this debt had to be paid. He did so much for me – I know you’d argue me on this, but believe me, he did. So I did what I had to do for him, even if I personally didn’t agree with his methods. But I never realized that the price I have to pay would be you.

I told you once that I’m not a good man. It’s true, but Skye, I tried to be better for you. But it’s hard when you have no one to truly rely on. My family – I told you about them. John, I… I never could trust him. He even said this the first day we met. And then I couldn’t be honest with you because of him. And, Skye, it hurt.

I know you came to S.H.I.E.L.D. looking for a family – and you found it. And I wanted to be a part of that family, Skye, you can’t even imagine how much. I still do.

Now all I want is you to understand. I hope you will someday. And maybe, just maybe, I will be able to tell you my story – my real, whole story – in person. But until then, you can trust me to watch your back.

Forever yours,

Grant


	20. Haunted

_But I still mean every word I said to you_   
_He will try to take away my pain_   
_And he just might make me smile_   
_But the whole time I'm wishin' he was you instead_   
_Oh, oh, holding my breath, won't see you again_   
_Something keeps me holding on to nothing_

Slipping into a quasi-relationship with Lincoln is easy. He gets her in a way no-one else does, he’s nice, funny, uncomplicated in a way she finds appealing. And he flirts shamelessly.

Staying in a quasi-relationship with him is harder, though.

As cliché it is, it’s not his fault, it’s hers. And, okay, Ward’s. Because he just won’t vacate her mind, no matter how hard she tries to evict him.

No matter how Lincoln tries to romance her, he somehow always manages to remind her of Ward.

_Let’s go down to the gym and do some little hands on practice!_ Yeah, she used to do that with Ward. She used to act annoyed, but she secretly enjoyed it.

_Let’s eat something!_ Ward used to be very meticulous about his sandwiches. And if she pouted enough, he’d have made her one, too. It was always delicious.

_Nobody’s hogging the TV – let’s watch something!_ Ward was hopeless about pop culture – like he lived under a rock in the last ten years or so. But he was willing to watch anything with her as long as she worked diligently in training beforehand (and she was sure he even enjoyed the movies she picked).

Poor Lincoln – no matter how he tries, he just won’t be able to take Ward’s place. He never will. Nobody ever will.

And it doesn’t even make her sad. No, the only thing that saddens her that it’s not Grant here with her, only a poor replacement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While everyone is already freaking out about the possible love triangle, I’m already formulating a headcannon where Lincoln’s romantic approach makes Skye realize she’s still in love with Ward.


	21. Long Live

_The night you danced like you knew our lives_   
_Would never be the same_   
_You held your head like a hero_   
_On a history book page_   
_It was the end of a decade_   
_But the start of an age_

The last night they spend at the Playground is the night of celebration.

S.H.I.E.L.D. has finally gained back its old glory, and HQ is officially moving back to D.C. the next day. They are already packed, every lab equipment and every personal belonging, which was a Herculean task in itself, but they are yet to face the real work: the Triskelion is still under construction, it’ll be a hell to build up the new security system, not to mention all the paperwork this all will bring upon.

And yet, tonight everybody is celebrating – and if it means that tomorrow morning half of the agents will be hangover, and the floor of the base will be littered by confetti and plastic cups, nobody seems to care.

They have worked in worse conditions.

Skye’s in the midst of celebrating people, dancing with Jemma and Bobbi, singing along with the song, even though the music is too loud for her voice to be heard. She’s a little bit more than tipsy – her movements more fluid and less coordinated than when sober.

And Grant can’t find himself blaming her.

It’s so rare that they have something to celebrate. Let alone at this volume. So she deserves this.

Damn it.

They both deserve it.

He drinks his scotch, sets down his glass, and walks onto the dance floor to steal Skye away from the girls.

She turns and gives him a happy grin when his arms encircle her waist.

“Hey, Stranger.”

“Hello, beautiful.”

She giggles as he spins her around, then places his hands on her hips, dangerously low.

“I though you didn’t dance.”

“I do when the occasion calls for it.”

And he does dance, pulling her close and setting a rhythm that would drive prom chaperons out of their minds. Like in everything, she’s his partner in this too, moving with him, against him, creating friction, giving him a clear idea what’s in store for him tonight when she gets bored of dancing.

God, as if he could love this woman any more.

At one point she gets enough of their wild, uncontrolled dancing (it was starting to test his self-control, anyway), slows down and puts her arms around his neck, pulling herself close, starting a slow, sensual swaying, despite of the fast-paced music still roaring around them.

She places her head on his shoulder and sighs; he takes the opportunity to inhale the scent of her hair.

“Wanna know a secret?” She says after a while into his ear.

“Only if it’s not classified.”

“It kinda is, but you have a clearance for it.”

“Then go ahead.”

She raises herself on the tip of her toes and gently nibbles on his ear before whispering – more like shouting – into it:

“I love you.”


	22. Teardrops on My Guitar

_She'd better hold him tight, give him all her love_   
_Look in those beautiful eyes and know she's lucky cause…_

Skye tells herself she can’t sleep because she had a stressful day and the adrenaline still roaring in her bloodstream renders her unable to rest.

Even she knows it’s a lie.

Sleep eludes her because she just can’t get the image of Ward entering May’s room out of her mind.

She tried to tell herself that she doesn’t care. Ward’s just her S.O., maybe her friend, but nothing more. They could never be more.

But she still wishes they could.

Even if it doesn’t change the fact that he, apparently, doesn’t feel the same way.

She hugs the soft, hotel pillow closer to her chest and wills her tears not to fall.

She has no claims over him. He’s his own person. He can do whatever he wants, be with whoever he wants. She just wishes…

She just wishes May is not only the one he wants, but the one he needs. The she will take care of him in a way she wants to. That she does not offer him a plain, physical relief, but an emotional one too (heavens, Skye knows he needs it).

She just hopes that May can be the person who can help him through this.

She wishes she could be that person – the person to be there for him, to hold him, to love him. But he chose May.

And she is completely okay with this, as long as Grant is happy in the relationship.

At least that’s what she tells herself as her tears drench her pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested, I posted an original short story, titled Day Off, on my tumblr (orlissa). It’s an absurd, somewhat humorous story of a person who has a beer with Death. And it takes place in Budapest.


	23. 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Direct continuation of ‘Long Live’.

_It feels like one of those nights_   
_We ditch the whole scene_   
_It feels like one of those nights_   
_We won't be sleeping_   
_It feels like one of those nights_   
_You look like bad news I gotta have you, I gotta have you_

She’s happy and giddy and hyper and _oh so not sober_ , but she doesn’t give a damn because this night is amazing and she’s in love.

Damn.

_She’s in love._

The fact itself, not to mention that she said it out loud – loud enough to be heard over the music – makes her want to giggle.

Grant’s reaction to her words just adds fuel to the urge.

He freezes for a moment, like a deer caught in the headlights, his irises swallowed up by his pupils, then there’s a break in the moment and he grins, then, before she could comprehend what’s happening, his lips are on hers.

He’s ruthless in his kiss – nibbling, battling, bruising, pouring his passion into her, pressing himself against her, letting her feel every hard contour of his body.

She has no idea how he does it, but he gets her to a hundred in a matter of seconds (not that she was parking idly by the curb before the kiss).

They have to get out of here, a rational, albeit subdued part of her advises, while a more feral part of her would be glad to take him right here, right now. But the former wins, so she pushes herself slightly away from him, then grabs his shirtfront, and practically drags him off the dancefloor, out of the room (she sees Hunter spot them and wink at Grant, but she couldn’t care less. Not right now. She’ll deal with him tomorrow).

The walk towards their room seems impossibly long, but once they’re there, the door shut, it’s all worth it.

It’s a hurried, frenzied affair of teeth and nails and fingers pulling at hair and lost buttons and torn dresses. They don’t even make it to the bed for the first time, and she lets him take her against the wall, and she loves it and loves him, and she tells him over and over, until she can’t speak anymore just scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it’s time I bumped up the rating…


	24. All You Had to Do Was Stay

_Here you are now_   
_Calling me up_   
_But I don't know what to say_   
_I've been picking up the pieces of the mess you made_   
_People like you always want back the love they pushed aside_   
_But people like me are gone forever_   
_When you say goodbye_

Skye isn’t even sure what she should do: laugh or cry or maybe rage?

Because Ward is back – back with List, Von Strucker’s associate in handcuffs as a peace offering, which was enough to earn him a tentative vote of confidence from Coulson – despite of her vehement protests.

But the story doesn’t end here, no – he sought her out, saying that he was sorry, talking about regrets and begging for a second chance.

And that is what sends her into hysterical laughing instead of shouting or crying.

He wants to start again, this time with a clean sheet, things – his betrayal, her bullets – forgotten. It is the most absurd thing she’s ever heard.

“You had your chance,” she says, keeping her ground, even though she’d love to run (either because she hates his presence, or because she doesn’t trust herself with him this near, she isn’t sure). “You blew it, big time.”

“Skye, you have to understand, it wasn’t–“

“Save your breath – I’ve heard this story before. And you know what? It’s bullshit.” Her voice is raising with every single word. “You always had a choice.”

Something like dark amusement flicker in his eyes as he run his hands through his hair.

“Yeah, sure I had,” he says, his voice frantic, walking back and forth, unable to stay still. “Because if had come clean, if I had told I was with HYDRA, let’s say, after Coulson was abducted, or after you were shot, you would have–“

“I would have stood by you!” She shouts, making him stop and stare at her. Her hands are shaking and she can feel the floor tremble, so she takes two deep breaths before continuing. “I would have helped you, would have accepted you just like you accepted me after Miles. It wouldn’t have been easy, but I would have. Because I loved you, damn it. And if you had…” She shuts her eyes, fighting back a sob. “…If you had been honest with instead of stabbing me, stabbing _my family_ in the back, I would still love you. But you didn’t, so congratulations, you broke my heart. And it’s over – for good. Never ask for a second chance from me again.”


	25. State of Grace

_You come around and the armor falls_   
_Pierce the room like a cannonball_   
_Now all we know is don't let go_   
_We are alone, just you and me_   
_Up in your room and our slates are clean_   
_Just twin fire signs_   
_Four [brown] eyes_

He falls without even realizing it.

One moment he’s focused on his mission – find out how Coulson was resurrected, save Garrett –, the next she’s the center of his universe and everything revolves around her. In reality, it’s a process, of course, but one that is over before he even notices it started.

One moment he’s standing in front of her bunk door, wanting to thank her that she saved his and Fitz’s skins.

The next he’s spilling his guts.

It actually starts as he planned it. He says thank you. She replies that she’d do it again. There’s a glint in her eyes that makes him smile. He sits on her bed. They start talking. She laughs and he chuckles (he feels free), and the conversation slowly moves from funny anecdotes to more serious topics.

(His armor is off before he could secure it.)

And then suddenly, she is confessing. She is talking about her parents and her quest to find them. About why she joined the Rising Tide and why she sought out S.H.I.E.L.D., why she needed them. She breaks under the weight of her confession, and all at once she looks so small and vulnerable and fragile, all he wants to do is to hold her close and kiss her pain away.

He does the second best – the worst – thing.

He talks.

He talks about his family, about John, about HYDRA – about how he cares nothing about them –, about his mission. He knows every word is a mistake, but he lets them flow. His soul gets lighter with every sentence that leaves his mouth.

When he finishes she just stares at him, but without the judgment he expected. No, she’s sympathetic. She maybe even feels sorry for him.

(He doesn’t deserve it.)

“What now?” he asks after a while, because he’s lost without a directive.

She sighs, closes her eyes and lets her shoulders fall forward in a weak shrug.

“I don’t know,” she says, reaching for his hand. “But I’ll there with you every step of the road.”

Impulsively, maybe not even realizing,what he’s doing, he lifts their entwined hands, and presses a kiss to the back of her hand, sealing their connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I tweaked the lyrics. It had to be done.


	26. Blank Space

_So it's gonna be forever_   
_Or it's gonna go down in flames_   
_You can tell me when it's over_   
_If the high was worth the pain_

Skye knows very well that what they are doing is nowhere near healthy, but she couldn’t care less.

They are angry and hurt – his betrayal, her bullets –, and act like they hate each other. Keep their distance in front of the others. They mock and argue and yes, sometimes shout. The others don’t question it – they are sympathetic towards her, cold, sometimes even hostile towards him. Ward doesn’t care; Skye acts like she doesn’t care.

Then, when they are alone, they sometimes break – and, in a moment, the tables are turned.

Screams turning into kisses, burning, bruising kisses. Distance bridged, clothes torn, skin on skin. Hands everywhere. Breathless gasps. Nails biting into skin. They are desperate to mark each other, to show them where they belong.

They don’t stop until they both fall over the edge.

Then everything goes back to where it was before.

They dress, turning their backs to each other, then leave. The next time they meet, they, again, act like they hate each other.

To an extent, they do.

But they also love each other.

_(There’s a fine, fine line…)_

It’s not a relationship. It’s a holding pattern. It’s not healthy. Not even close.

But neither of them wants to give it up.

The only question is: how long can they keep it up?

_(End when it ends, will they burn? Or find solace?)_


	27. Forever & Always

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this, I told you it wouldn’t be exclusively Skyeward. Well, here it goes: the first FitzSimmons drabble in the series. It’s also my first time writing this couple – as they have always been more of a BrOTP for me –, but I hope I still will be able to do them justice.

_This thing is breaking down, we almost never speak_   
_I don't feel welcome anymore_   
_Baby, what happened? Please tell me_   
_'Cause one second it was perfect_   
_Now you're halfway out the door_

There was a time when they made silly promises, like always being there for each other. It happened when they were on the same wavelength, joined at the hip, thick as thieves. And they thought it would last forever.

It didn’t.

Of course, Jemma didn’t think that things would go back to how they were _after_ (after HYDRA, after the pod, after Fitz’s coma, after her undercover mission…). But… She hoped they would be better than this.

Than strained silence. Than avoiding each other’s eyes. Than barely having anything to say to the other, anything that wouldn’t spark an argument. Than being unable to look at the other without remembering that untimely confession of love.

She hates it. She barely bears it – especially now, when she so desperately needs somebody she can completely rely on.

She needs Fitz back – her Fitz.

Her partner in crime.

Her best friend.

Who might be just a little more than that.

(But she’s afraid to say it.)


	28. I Wish You Would

_I wish we could go back_   
_And remember what we were fighting for_   
_I wish you know that I miss you too much to be mad anymore_   
_Wish you were right here, right now, it's all good, I wish you would_

After knowing her about six hours, Skye decides she likes Bobbi.

They both had a stressful day, to say at least – even though she has cried most of it out, and Bobbi seems strangely amused by Hunter’s reaction to her –, so it’s only natural that she thinks some stiff drink is in order. It’s merely a coincidence that Bobbi’s thoughts were wandering to the same direction. Or, well, great minds think alike, as they say.

They met at the deserted lounge – their more sensible teammates have already turned in for the night –, and, after all they already share insomnia, they decide to share their nerve-smoothing drink too, while chatting a little, getting to know the other. Then one drink turns into two, that turns into three, and soon their tongues are loosening.

“So…” Bobbi starts with a mischievous that, were Skye sober, would spell trouble. “I hear you are kinda in a nasty love-like situation.”

Skye almost chokes on her drink.

_Ward_. Yeah, of course. Why not.

 “Something like that.”

“And? Please. I spent months surrounded by HYDRA officials who had sticks stuck in their asses. I’m starving for something saucy.”

The sensible thing would be to quickly change the direction of the conversation, or, better yet, claim that it was time for her to go to sleep, and bid Bobbi good night, not even giving her a chance to pursue the topic. But Skye’s already at the stage of drunkenness where honesty has become strangely appealing.

So she sighs and starts talking.

“So I had… have… had this thing with this guy. He was a teammate. And my SO. We were… ah… we were to start something, relationship-wise. There was some making out involved.” She lets out a little moan at the memory. Heavens, that was some making out. Shame it ended so abruptly. “Long story short, he turned out to be a HYDRA spy, he played me, I played him, and now he’s in the basement in solitary.”

Bobbi just watches her for a long moment, then lets out a low _damn_.

“And I thought my relationship with Hunter was dysfunctional.”

Skye can’t help herself – she lets out a laugh at that.

“You must really hate him.”

Bobbi’s comment sobers her, turning her pensive.

“Do you want to know the truth?” she asks, her gaze fixed on the rim of her glass. She more like senses than sees Bobbi nod.

“I’d appreciate it.”

“At first I thought I hated him. But now?” She sighs. “I’m not even really mad anymore. I mean, of course I’m mad, and whenever I see him I just want to slap him, or better yet, put a round in him, but it’s… It’s more like that he ruined what we could have had, than what he did.” She raises her head, and looks into the older woman’s eyes. “And I miss him – the him I knew. I miss him so much that it hurts – not just sometimes, but, like, constantly. And then I’m sent down to him, to get information out of him, and I know I have to be mad, but I’m always so afraid that I’m slip and… Damn. I think I’m in love with him.”

Having finished, she just looks at Bobbi expectantly, as if waiting for some kind of wise big sister advice, like “it’ll get better” or “you just need somebody to help you get over him” (hell, she’d even settle with a “go down to Vault D right now, get him out and elope with him”), but all she gets is a sympathetic, albeit kinda uncomfortable, smile and a pat on the knee.

“It must suck.”

“It kinda does.”

“Men do this to you, this way or another.” Her glass in hand, Bobbi stands up, then points at Skye’s empty glass. “Want another? The night’s still young. And maybe I have a story or two about Hunter that’ll make you feel better. Or at least will provide you with some blackmail material.”

Skye just smiles gratefully up at her (it seems to be easier to smile suddenly – maybe it’s a good thing she got this off of her chest), and hands Bobbi her glass.

“I’d like that.”


	29. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody asked for an AU sequel for ‘State of Grace’. Well, here you go :)

_Flash forward and we’re taking on the world together,_   
_And there’s a drawer of my things at your place._   
_You learn my secrets and you figure out why I’m guarded,_   
_You say we’ll never make my parents’ mistakes._

The things that follow are nasty. He comes clean to Coulson – Skye, as she promised, stays with, gripping his hand as their commanding officer rages on (he’s never seen Coulson _rage_ before). Then, when he finally calms down, the planning starts.

That is the moment when his life changes irreversibly.

From then on, it’s a shadow war. First, they are trying to unveil and keep under watch as many HYDRA officials as they can – it’s a tricky game, because even Grant knows only a few of them, so they can’t trust anybody, and they have to move without alerting the beast.

Then one day it catches scent, and everything goes to hell.

Many die.

S.H.I.E.L.D. falls.

They are forced underground.

(But they don’t give up.)

And, surprisingly enough, in the middle of this storm, he finds himself to be _happy_.

As inappropriately timed as it is, he’s in love – deeply, stupidly in love.

When they move their base of operations to a secret base provided by Fury, he and Skye bunk together – it’s exciting and maddening and amazing. They share, and it’s something he’s never done before willingly.

They share a chest of drawers – they have their designated drawers, and yet her underwear somehow always finds its way into his drawers, while his soft, worn T-shirts find their way into hers (he doesn’t even mind a bit).

They share a bed – Skye curls up in her sleep and hogs the blankets, so he learns how to sleep pressed up to her, and that if he draws her close and lets her use his chest as a pillow, she’ll sleep easier after a difficult day (he sleeps better, too, if she’s close).

They share feelings, fears and memories – some days, she’ll sit with her leg crossed on the bed, and will draw his head into her lap, playing with his hair and caressing his scalp while he talks and she listens, or she talks and he listens. They talk about the past, the present, even the uncertain future. About his parents’ abuse, about her missing ones, about heartache, trauma, brokenness.

They slowly work their way under the other’s armor.

They like what they see.

Then they share promises – promises of standing by the other, of not making the same mistakes their parents did. Of staying together. Of protecting each other. Of taking care of each other. Of treasuring each other. Of a brighter future. Of fulfilled dreams.

And, most importantly, they share love.

And this is what keeps him fighting. Because HYDRA be damned – he let them hollow him out, use him up, broke him, but he would sooner die than let them take her away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe, this way or another, S.H.I.E.L.D. was destined to fall – it had to fall, so, like a phoenix, it could rise from its ashes. In the big scheme of things, it wouldn’t have mattered if Grant came clean early on – sooner or later HYDRA would have sniffed it out, and came out of the shadows anyway. But at least he’d have had a chance at personal happiness.


	30. Bad Blood

_Did you have to do this? I was thinking that you could be trusted_   
_Did you have to ruin what was shining? Now it's all rusted_

During the first few weeks, Skye really considers going down to Vault D and demanding answers.

Her heart is left in shards after the wake of everything, she is mad and hurt and raging, and she needs something, some kind of closure, and somehow she thinks confronting him will help.

She has a plan – it goes through numerous changes over the weeks, but she has a plan.

She’ll go down the stairs, strong, determined, her face set. She’ll walk up to the laser grid, close enough that it’ll light up, and she’ll look straight into his eyes, unflinching, unblinking.

And then she’ll talk.

Then she’ll tell him that she trusted him. That she considered him friend, a real friend, a title doesn’t easily bestow upon anybody. She’ll tell him that she even started to love him. That she was falling for him. That they could have had a future together. And that whatever mess Garrett got him into, she would have helped him if he asked for it.

So, then, why did he have to do this? Stab everyone in the back, kill and lie, turn his back on people who called him a friend? Why sabotage himself? Why sacrifice himself for a man in whose eyes he was barely more than a tool? Why ruin everything? Why break her, why break them?

She has it all planned out. She even tries it out in front of the mirror (by the fourth try, she can go through it without bursting into tears).

But she never goes through with it. The farthest she gets is the door of Vault D. There she stops, and stands, paralyzed, for minutes.

Then she rushes back to her room, envelops herself in a soft blanket, pulls out some silly movie she once made him watch, and gets lost in her sweet memories, far away from the torturous present.


	31. How You Get the Girl

“Care to tell me why you have this picture?” Kara asks, her tone almost accusing as she stands in front of him, his jacket in one hand, the said picture that must have fallen out from the inner pocket of the jacket in the other.

Of course. _That_ picture.

That silly selfie or whatever that Skye took of the two of them, way back, during their happy days, on a lazy afternoon they spent on the Bus. He was reading in the lounge when, completely out of the blue, she appeared right next to him with a wide grin on her face, kneeled on the couch, and before he could have protested, she pressed a kiss to his cheek (leaving lipstick prints on his skin) and clicked the camera.

He pretended to be annoyed (while it took all his willpower not grin like an idiot, because his cheek was still tingling), and demanded the picture to be deleted. She said no and stuck her tongue out at him (now, that did make him smile).

Later on, when she put the pictures she took around the Bus on the plane’s main, personal server, he downloaded the photo and transferred it to a secure virtual storage. And when he got out of containment, he printed it and put in his jacket. And okay, maybe sometimes he was gazing at it when he was feeling down. He thought he could allow himself this much sentimentality.

Back in the present he just frowns, snatches the picture from her hand, tucks it into his pocket and turns his back on Kara, walking to the window.

There’s a moment of utter, deafening silence before she speaks.

“It’s unhealthy as hell.”

He fights the urge to let out an exasperated sigh.

“I know.”

“She kinda hates your guts, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I know.”

“And she shot you. Multiple times”

_“I know.”_

“And you still carry around her picture.” She pauses, as if waiting for confirmation, and when it doesn’t come, Grant hears her tossing the jacket on the coffee table. “Damn it. You have it bad – I mean I knew you had it bad, but I had no idea that this bad. Damn it. We’re gonna need something stiff. Like vodka.

This makes him turn back towards her.

“What?”

Kara raises her eyebrows at him.

“I want to hear the whole story, every tiny, saucy detail, and I have a feeling it won’t happen without alcohol. And then, when you’re done talking, we are going to come up with a plan on how you can get that girl back. Because I’m completely done with your brooding and moping around.”

Grant can’t help the tiny, grateful smile that forms on his lips.


	32. Come in With the Rain

_And I, I’ve got you down,_   
_I know you by heart,_   
_And you don’t even know where I start._

Being undercover is never easy – there are a lot of things to pay attention to, to act right, to tell the right lie –, but he is supposed to have this down. He has done it so many times, for so long, that it shouldn’t bother by him now.

But it does.

It’s not that he’s getting tangled up in his lies, or that it’s getting too hard to keep up the façade. It’s that he genuinely hates that he has to lie. Especially to _her_.

Skye is so damn open, so sincere, and she lets him read her like a book. If she likes something, she’ll let him know; if she doesn’t like something, she’ll let him know that, too. She is vocal and lively and easily amused and predictable in her unpredictability (he loves it when she surprises him). And day after day she’s letting him closer to herself (sometimes he wants to tell her _no, don’t do this_ ), up until a point he thinks he knows her better than he knows himself.

He knows that she’s grumpy in the morning until she gets her coffee (she drinks it with three sugars, too sweet for his taste). That she likes staying up late watching sitcoms, but the lazy mornings are reserved for Disney. She has a sweet tooth, but she detests dark chocolate. She likes comfortable clothing, but enjoys the reactions she gets when she dresses up. She’s messy, but immaculate when it comes to her equipment. She likes touching – hugging, cuddling, or just casually touching the other’s elbow. _How to Train Your Dragon_ makes her sob, but she finds _Titanic_ hilarious. There’s a certain twinkle in her eyes when she comes up with something mischief. She is breathtaking when she smiles.

He could list all the small things he knows about her. He could write a book on it.

Maybe that’s why it hurts so much that next to her, he is a big bunch of lies.

Maybe that’s why he lets himself slip from time to time – let the real Grant Ward show. The one that doesn’t care about S.H.I.E.L.D. or HYDRA, the one who just wants to be free, who wants to be a hero.

Who wants to love her.

He hopes that one day he can actually be that man.


	33. Never Grow Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update – I had a slight headache last night, and it stumped my creativity. But in consolation, here’s a double-drabble :) And I’m bringing the next one tonight.

_I won't let nobody hurt you, won't let no one break your heart_   
_And no one will desert you_   
_Just try to never grow up, never grow up_

I.

May was right: he’d brought three children to the Bus – three children who, despite their past, despite their abilities, were still pure, innocent, excited by the universe’s wonders.

And he’d brought them in and had them face and fight the world’s darkest.

He’d robbed them of their childlike wonder; he’d ruined them.

Because of him, Simmons spent months lying in a nest of vipers that were ready to bite her any minute. Because of him she had to go against her very nature, while turning her back on her friends.

Because of him, Fitz lost himself, the person he had used to be. Because of him, he was in constant agony, trying to find the way back to that person. Because of him, his faith, his unrelenting faith in people was broken.

Because of him, Skye’s whole world crumbled around her. And then it was the world itself that crumbled around her – because of her. And because of him, because he failed to protect her.

He knew it was all for the greater good – that in the end, all of their sacrifices would help and protect and save people –, but he couldn’t help but hate himself a little for failing to keep their childlike innocent intact for a while longer.

* * *

 

II.

His daughter took her first steps today, and it terrifies him a little.

Because just yesterday she was just a tiny, fragile infant, lying in his arms and smiling up at him, completely relying on him to take care of her and to protect her, and today, she grabbed the side of the couch, pulled herself up and took two tentative steps before she fell back. By the time he got to her, she was already sitting on the floor, giggling and holding her arms out towards him, asking to be picked up.

It was just two steps today, but tomorrow, she’ll run. Her broken syllables of “ma” and “da” will turn into words first, then sentences. She’ll go to kindergarten and school, then out into the world. She’ll make friends and fall in love, and she’ll be betrayed and her heart broken. And he won’t always be there to protect her.

And it completely terrifies him.

He is so not ready for her to grow up.

This marks his whole day, making him quiet, withdrawn, and of course Skye notices it, and bugs him until he confesses as they are getting ready for bed that night. She just laughs at his insecurities.

“Why can’t she just stay a baby?” he pleads amidst her giggles, because he honestly wants that.

“It doesn’t work that way, babe,” she says, leaning to him and kissing the corner of his mouth, kneeling next to him on the mattress. “But I don’t understand why are you like this. You’re doing great with her now; I’m sure you’ll continue to be an amazing father as she grows.”

Her gentle words and peppering kisses placate and encourage him a little. Maybe he can do this. Maybe it won’t be as terrifying as it seems now.

“And if so want to have a baby around,” she continues, gently nibbling at his earlobe, “maybe we could make another.”

The next moment he tackles her to the bed.


	34. I Knew You Were Trouble

_‘Cause I knew you were trouble when you walked in_   
_So shame on me now_

Skye should have known in the beginning that it would be a mistake to fall for him. Then again, she has always been keen to listen more to her heart than to commons sense, at least when matters like these were concerned.

It was too good to be real to begin with: the tall, dark, handsome stranger, coming for her. The sizzling sexual tension between them from day one. The sensitive, vulnerable, downright adorable guy hiding under the tough exterior. The bad boy who she was starting to believe could be a good guy only for her. The whole thing was almost like it was taken from a trashy romance novel, down to the love triangle.

And she was starting to believe their story would end like one of those books.

So of course it didn’t.

So of course he turned out to be a traitor, a lying bastard.

So of course everything he’d told her was a lie.

So of course everything he made her feel was a lie.

(It’s a shame what she felt wasn’t a lie.)

But of course, she has nobody to blame for her broken heart but herself. After all, she was the one who fell for him when she knew it was a bad idea, when he was just using her.

(If only she knew how wrong she is.)


	35. Ronan

One would think it gets easier with every passing year. That time makes the scars fade.

It does not; and it just gets harder, more painful every single year.

Daisy would be ten today.

No, Cal corrects himself: _Daisy is ten today_. She’s alive somewhere. She has to be.

He goes through the day like he does every year: first, he buys a cake. He buys a different cake every year, because he has no idea what she’d like ( _what she likes_ ). Does she like vanilla, or maybe she is more into chocolate? Perhaps she likes something savory, like lemon? Or is she crazy for strawberry? This year, he goes with red velvet. He doesn’t know why, he just does.

Then, as pathetic it is, he goes to a toy store. Every year, he decides to buy something for her, something to put away and give to her once he finds her, but never actually manages to choose what to buy. All the pink boxes of Barbie dolls and ponies are inviting and overwhelming, but… Would she like that? Is she a girly girl, dressing in pink and frills and tiny bows, hosting imaginary tea parties? Or is she more of a tomboy, with scraped knees, playing soccer with the boys? He has no idea, and it unhinges him, so he always leaves the store without buying anything (but he always promises himself that when he finds her, he’ll take her to a toy store, or anywhere she wants to go, and he’ll buy her anything she wants).

Then he grabs the cake and takes it to a playground. He always chooses a small, but nicely kept one, with a dozen or so children playing around – he likes to pretend it’s Daisy’s birthday party. He likes to imagine that there are colorful decorations all around, and a big banner saying _‘Happy birthday, Daisy!’_ He likes to pretend that Jiaying is there, watching their daughter running around. He likes to daydream that they are happy.

Then he cuts up the cake, and gives it to the children around. He usually gets some strange, suspicious looks, but a short explanation – it’s his lost daughter’s birthday, he just misses her, he means no harm (he really does not) – usually placates the worried moms. They understand, and he gets a couple sympathetic looks. He stays until the cake is gone, watching the happy children munch away at the dessert. He can almost see the Daisy amongst them, her long hair in pigtails, her smiling lips smeared with buttercream. Once the cake is finished, he leaves.

His day always ends the same way: in a bar, drunk, maybe with a dead man or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was the least painful way I could have gone with it.


	36. Sweeter Than Fiction

_What a sight, what a sight when the light came on_   
_Proved me right, proved me right when you proved them wrong_   
_And in this perfect weather_   
_It's like we don't remember_   
_The rain we thought would last forever and ever_

These days it’s easy to forget that there were times when their relationship, to put it lightly, was less than perfect. That there was a time filled with lies and betrayal, harsh words and bullet wounds, pain and hurt.

It all seems so far away now that the dark grey storm clouds have disappeared and they have found their way back to each other.

Now, when every morning she wakes up to a kiss, lacing her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her before he could be foolish enough to leave her to train.

Now, when Lance does gagging noises when he sees them together, accusing them of being a walking romance novel.

Now, when he looks at her with pure, unfiltered pride whenever she uses her gift, or just simply succeeds to keep at bay whenever she is upset.

Now, when he proves day after day where his loyalties lie, completing mission after mission, working with her, working with a team.

Now, when he can just pull her close and kiss her, whenever he feels like it.

Now, when no-one even raises an eyebrow (okay, they pick on them, but it’s because of a completely different reason) whenever she sits in his lap in the lounge.

Now, when they can share a beer and a few good laughs with the team without feeling unwelcome.

Now, when they can go to bed together, and fall asleep snuggled close, holding the other in their arms.

So yes, these days it’s easy to forget how it used to be. But to be perfectly honest, Skye doesn’t mind it – she’d much rather live in the spectacular present, than to dwell on the mistakes of the past.


	37. Holy Ground

_Spinning like a girl in a brand new dress,_   
_We had this big wide city all to ourselves._   
_We blocked the noise with the sound of ‘I need you’,_   
_And for the first time I had something to lose_

Grant is only merely surprised when he finds Skye – dressed in sandals and a sundress, her hair in loose curls, sunglasses pushed to the top of her head – at the door of his hotel room early in the morning.

“Have you ever been in this city?” she asks in lieu of greeting, to which he just shakes his head, raising his eyebrows in amusement. “Hm… okay,” she replies, apparently unfazed. “Are you ready to go?”

“Go where?”

“Whatever. Sightseeing. Being out and about. Playing tourist.”

They are having downtime in Budapest, having nothing to do while Coulson is having meetings with local and international law enforcement forces seemingly without no end. He can imagine that she is starting to get bored holed up in the hotel, but he is still not sure where to place her straightforwardness. But she is looking up at him, smiling expectantly, so he nods.

“Okay, just give me a minute.”

Ten minutes later they are out in the city neither of them knows, strolling down the street carelessly in the late-spring sunshine, and she keeps smiling and babbling, pointing things out to him, amazed by the architecture, how the past and the present seem to merge together, and when she grabs his hand he has to stop and wonder – was this supposed to be a date?

He doesn’t dare to actually ask – there’s a fear of shattering the illusion –, but he decides to believe that it is. He squeezes her hand, and, in a particularly brave moment, puts his arm around her waist.

She leans into him.

He can’t even remember when was the last time he felt so free, so unburdened as today, walking around aimlessly in a strange city with a girl, who–

It’s silly, but he just can’t wipe the goofy smile off his face.

They are out until sundown, stopping here and there, sampling the local food, enjoying the sights, talking, smiling, laughing, getting bolder, braver.

On their way back to the hotel, crossing a bridge with stone lions on the ends, he kisses her.

She kisses him back.

“Finally.”

Somehow, they both end up in his room that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the delay – I was at a press screening last night, got back late, and my mind was completely bleached. But… here you go! I actually have a love-hate relationship with this piece, because I like the base idea, but kinda feel like that the concept here could work better for something bigger than a drabble. Also, Budapest – I just can’t help using it, because, damn, I live here and it’s Marvel canon! :D


	38. You Belong With Me

_If you could see_  
_That I'm the one_  
_Who understands you,_  
_Been here all along._  
_So, why can't you see—_  
_You belong with me?_

Skye is aware that it is not the sanest thing to do, but when she has nothing else to do (or just can’t make herself actually do something she should be doing) she likes to ponder about why on earth would Ward hook up with May.

Okay, that needs to be rephrased: a hook up she understands. May is a total badass, legendary agent – the freaking Cavalry –, and Ward is, well, Ward is hot as hell. People have banged for a lot less.

So, yeah, sex she understands. But this pseudo-relationship, this recurring pattern they have (which she isn’t even supposed to know of) – well, that’s beyond her understanding.

Mostly because, well, May is great and everything, but she just… She is just not good for Ward. Emotionally speaking.

Skye has had glimpses into the guy’s soul, and damn, that bettered thing could use some patching up. An ear to listen, a shoulder to lean on (and maybe somebody to give him a big bear hug once in a while). And just to be clear: May is not the right person for this job.

No, he’d need somebody who actually understands him, who knows what it is to have a crappy childhood, and who wouldn’t push his issues aside or sweep them under the rug. Somebody who is willing listen. Somebody who can provide him comfort. Somebody who will actually take care of him. Somebody who is interested in him beyond a casual horizontal tango. Somebody who will actually love him.

Somebody like… Well, somebody like her. She could do it. She could totally do it. Not that she is into him or anything. She doesn’t have a crush on him. No. Nope. Not at all. She is just a compassionate human being who wants to help her S.O.

(Only she’d really love to switch places with May. Because of… reasons.)

(Because she is in love with him.)

(Not that she’d ever admit it out loud.)


	39. Today Was a Fairytale

_But can you feel this magic in the air?_   
_It must have been the way you kissed me_

I.

Grant’s dating history is… laughable, to say at least. It is one thing to pick up women for what both of them know is a one-time thing. The same goes for seducing targets on missions. But actually inviting somebody on a date, somebody he actually wants to like him, is completely different.

It’s terrifying – in a way it’s even more terrifying than facing a dozen hostiles alone, with only one pistol.

So yeah, he’s… stressed out. His palms are clammy, his guts are in a twist, and he feels like if he opens his mouth he’s gonna stammer. (God, he’s worse than a high school freshman.) But damn it, he is a freaking S.H.I.E.L.D. specialist. He can do this.

II:

Every mission’s success lies in the planning. Of course, plans sometimes get thrown out of the window once the action starts.

Just like now.

He had a plan. He really had. He was going to get Skye alone. Walk up to her, smile down at her charmingly. Ask her if she’s ever tried real Italian food. Because he knows a really great restaurant here in Florence, and if she’d like, he’d love to take her there. Of course doing it in the most charming and confident (bot not cocky) way. Maybe initiate physical contact. Like touching her elbow. Or tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. (Or would that be too much?)

So yeah, he had a plan.

Emphasis of the past tense.

III.

The problem starts where he can’t get her alone. Because FitzSimmons are monopolizing her, playing cards with her in the lounge. It’s enough to take one glance at her for him to see that she has no intentions of giving up the game any time soon. So he does the next best thing.

He joins the game.

Three rounds of rummy later he’s losing pathetically (he’s down on his luck and just can’t concentrate on the cards when Skye is sitting next him, and _she’s casually placing her hand on his knee when she gets excited_ ). Two more rounds and he’s losing his mind. It’s like the steam is collecting up inside of him, the pressure rising, and he’s ready to burst.

So he abandons his former strategy, and decides to bring up the topic in front of FitzSimmons.

“So, Skye, I’ve been thinking…”

“Wait, wait, wait…” she says, not even looking at him, as she starts placing her cards in neat lines on the table. “That’s it! I win!” she exclaims, throwing her last card to the center of the table. “You were saying?”

“It’s just… ah… Since we’re here for a couple of days, and I know this restaurant in downtown – they have amazing lasagna – and I was thinking,” he is blubbering. And his gaze is darting around, unable to focus on her face. Damn it, he’s pathetic. “So I was thinking that we could go there, if you’d like to.”

Skye’s eyes go wide in surprise.

“Well, it sounds great. I’ve been meaning to explore the– Ouch! Simmons!” Fitz’s sentence is interrupted, assumedly, by Jemma’s foot connecting with his shin.

 His painful cry breaks the tension, drawing both Grant’s and Skye’s eyes to him, but he’s watching, rather sheepishly, Simmons, who’s glaring at him. Like she’s actually annoyed with him, almost like he’s not getting something he should–

Oh. Suddenly, there is understanding in his eyes. Jemma’s glare softens. Fitz cocks his head towards the galley, to which Jemma answers with a slight nod. They might think that they are being subtle, but they are not. Not at all. It’s painfully embarrassing.

“Oh, look,” Fitz says, standing up. “It’s empty,” he picks up the bowl, still half-full with pretzels. “I’d better go and… refill it.” And with that he walks to the galley.

“I’d better check on him,” Jemma adds, standing as up well, but winking at Grant before joining Fitz.

Amazing.

IV.

Finally left alone (sort of left alone. FitzSimmons are still within hearing range), Skye turns towards him, amusement twinkling in her dark eyes.

“You were talking about some restaurant?”

It takes him a moment to compose himself.

“Yes! It’s a great place. And I’d love to take you there, if you’d let me.”

Skye smirks at, in that knowing way of hers, which makes him sweat.

“Agent Ward, are you… asking me on a date?”

He gulps.

(So much for the best since Romanoff.)

“…Yes?”

She grins at him, and his heart starts beating so wildly in excitement he’s legitimately starting to fear that it’ll jump out of his chest.

“Okay. I’m in.” And with that, she leans in suddenly and presses a kiss against his cheek (he can hear Simmons gasp in the galley). “Pick me up at seven tomorrow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end of this story. But it’s getting late and it’s turned into a monstrosity of a drabble, so what do you say if we revisit it tomorrow?


	40. Treacherous

_Put your lips close to mine_   
_As long as they don't touch_   
_Out of focus, eye to eye_   
_Till the gravity's too much_

With each passing day, it’s getting harder and harder training her.

It’s not that she’s bad – oh, no, quite the opposite; she is more than determined to become an agent, and it turns out that she even has an unexpected aptitude for it (if only she was better at handling a gun).

No, the real problem is not her – it’s him. Him, and his stupid heart that wants to jump out of his chest whenever he has to touch her to adjust her stance, or when her body gets pressed against his as they spar.

It’s a sweet torture.

And sadly, he knows he won’t last much longer.

He breaks on a Wednesday morning.

They are on the mats in the cargo bay, tossing each other around, although he is clearly having the upper hand – not that he expected anything else.

But then Skye sneaks a foot behind his leg, then draws it in, making him falls backwards. The move is unexpected – and, to be honest, rather astounding –, so he is a bit startled, and grabs her arm as he falls, bringing her down with him.

They fall on the mats in a heap, him on his back, her on top of him, her breasts pressed against his chest.

There’s a moment of silence, then–

She starts laughing, in a joyful, proud, infectious kind of way, so he can’t help but join her.

It takes him about four seconds to realize how close they – their mouths – are. Then he doesn’t feel like laughing anymore.

His breath stops. Their eyes meet. His hands slide down to her waist. Her pupils widen, almost swallowing up her pupils. Her lips slightly part.

He shouldn’t.

It’s a mistake.

It will complicate things.

It’s against S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol.

It can only end badly.

He just doesn’t care.

He puts a hand on the nape of her neck, burying his fingers in her luscious hair, his eyes wandering from her irises to her lips then back, silently asking for permission. She, so subtly it’s barely noticeable, nods.

It’s the point of no return.

The next moment he is kissing her (or is she kissing him?).

It’s heaven. Her lips are soft and yielding and loving and warm and passionate and redeeming.

It’s his best mistake yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s not the continuation of yesterday’s story, but do not despair! I’m working on that (currently it’s about twice as long as it was yesterday, and the best part is yet to come), and I plan on finishing it tomorrow – when it’s done, the whole thing will be uploaded as an independent story. So just be patient – it will be rewarded, I swear :)


	41. Picture to Burn

_So watch me strike a match_   
_On all my wasted time_   
_As far as I'm concerned you're_   
_Just another picture to burn!_

For two days after the Miles fiasco, she holds it together. She acts like nothing has happened. After all, their relationship was habitual and barely existing, anyway. It’s not if his betrayal hurts that much.

Damn it.

That bastard.

She loses it on the third night.

It starts with crying – not that delicate, pretty kind you sometimes see in the movies, but the completely ugly, snotty, red-eyed variety. He curses him, tells the ceiling she hopes something nasty will happen to him. Like that his floor will turn into Lego pieces.

Then she collects together everything she has from him – a couple of pictures, a shirt or two, a hoodie (damn, she almost saves the hoodie – it’s so soft), a notebook, a gaudy necklace he got her for Christmas two years ago. But when all this is in one big pile in the middle of her bunk, she stops. She has no idea what to do with it.

It’s maddening.

Damn him. Damn him and his stupid decisions and lack of spine.

In her rage, she throws the notebook against the wall.

Of course, that’s when Ward walks by.

He slides her door open without asking for permission to do it, peeks in, and frowns at her mess – it’s the kind of frown when she can’t decide whether he’s irritated by her or for her. Not like she cares. Ward made it rather clear that he mad at her and doesn’t want to do anything with her.

Again, (partially) thanks to Miles.

Damn, she hates him.

But back to the current situation – Ward steps into the room, looks at her, then at the pile of junk, then back at her. Then he lets out a sigh, like he’s just decided to do something against his better judgement.

“Come on,” he says, nodding towards the door. “And bring this stuff.”

She’s so taken aback, she doesn’t even think of arguing – she simply gathers up Miles’s junk, stands up from the floor, and follows Ward as he first makes a little detour towards the galley where he takes something out of one of the drawers, then down the spiral staircase and out of the cargo bay, to the asphalt of the airfield they are currently staying at. Once out in the open, he indicates her to throw everything on the ground – she raises an eyebrow at that, but when nods again, she does as she’s been told.

Once in a big, messy pile on the ground, Ward takes a small can of fuel – she didn’t even see him get it –, douses Miles’s junk with it, then clicks on the lighter he brought from the kitchen, and lights the whole thing up – clothes, pictures, trinkets.

It’s strangely liberating, seeing his stuff burn. She actually allows herself a small smile (even if she still feels a little sorry for the hoodie).

“It’s better this way, isn’t it?” he asks, and she nods.

“Yeah, much better,” she answers, leaning against his side.

None of them speak about the incident afterwards. Nor of the faded, grey, Ward-smelling hoodie she finds on her bed later that night.


	42. Enchanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is set right after the end of the one-shot Today Was a Fairytale (you know, the one that started off as a drabble, and that is finished and published as of yesterday)

_This night is sparkling, don't you let it go_   
_I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home_   
_I'll spend forever wondering if you knew_   
_This night is flawless, don't you let it go_

As soon as the door closes behind her, Skye leans against the wall and brings her fingertips to her lips that are still tingling from his kiss.

She feels like giggling like a schoolgirl, being noticed by her crush. She’d be embarrassed by it if she wasn’t so damn happy.

Because heavens… that was the best first date she’s ever had.

Not caring about the sea salt still clinging to her skin and hair, she throws herself on her bed with a wide grin on her face.

Well, who would have thought?

She was completely prepared for a total letdown – for a grim reminder that the attraction she felt for Ward was nothing but unresolved sexual tension, a forbidden fruit, and that it wouldn’t be nearly enough for anything substantial. She was prepared for their date to be a disaster – awkwardness, strained silence, both of them wishing it was over barely after it started.

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

She smiles into her pillow.

It was, as cheesy as it sounds, a dream come true. A dream she didn’t even know she had before. It’s like all the tiny pieces that were missing from her previous relationships have finally fallen into place. They just click; it’s more than just sexual tension (although that is there, too; god, that kiss in the water!); there’s something real there. Something they can build on.

She squeals into the pillow.

(She’d be ashamed of herself if she wasn’t this giddy and tingly and feeling absolutely amazing all over.)

She turns to her back and gazes at the ceiling, seeing not the tiles, but the stars above her. She takes a slow, deep breath, and, still smiling like an idiot, closes her eyes.

She can’t wait for tomorrow to come.


	43. You're Not Sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another first for me – Huntingbird!

_And you got your share of secrets_   
_And I'm tired of being last to know_   
_And now you're asking me to listen_   
_Cause it's worked each time before_

They have a holding pattern.

He falls.

She falls.

They have fun.

They are happy.

She keeps secrets.

He finds out.

She says she’s sorry.

He doesn’t listen.

They break up.

They don’t talk.

Then they meet again.

And the whole thing starts once again.

Every single time Lance tells himself that he won’t let himself get entangled in her web again. That he’s done. He doesn’t want to see her, doesn’t want to hear from her.

So he starts antagonizing her – his words more of a self-defense than real anger. He calls her a demon. A she-devil. Jokes about her evilness, about how she used to nag him. Tells everybody who will listen how terrible she is. He hides his pain behind nasty little jokes.

(Meanwhile all he can remember is how her hair used to look like just after she woke up; how she danced to her favorite songs; how her words slowed a little when she had a little too much to drink; how her eyes shined when he kissed her; how she would laugh when he tickled that certain spot on her hip; how she would sigh if he touched her just the right way.)

And when he’s finally secure in the illusion that he doesn’t love her anymore, they meet again.

And the dance starts from the beginning.

(It always ends the same way, but he’s crazy enough to hope for a different finale.)


	44. I Almost Do

_I bet you think I either moved on or hate you_  
'Cause each time you reach out there's no reply.  
I bet it never ever occurred to you that I can't say "Hello" to you  
And risk another goodbye.

Ever since Ward’s come back to the base, he’s been infuriating. Because he’s good.

He’s nice. Charming. Funny. A complete dork. And he’s trying – he’s reaching out to her. Not saying out loud, but making it clear nonetheless, that the past should be the past, and that he is willing to forgive her mistakes if she does the same.

But she can’t. She just – can’t.

Not that it stops him from trying.

But of course, there’s a point where she breaks.

It happens on a Wednesday afternoon, not that it matters the slightest. She’s in the lounge, going through the security report of the base, when he suddenly appears, mug in hand, and takes a seat in the armchair opposite of her.

She stiffens, but other than that, gives no sign of noticing him, even if she can feel his eyes on her. It makes her skin tingle.

To his credit, he doesn’t say a word for a while – it’s almost like she was a wild animal, and he’d first let her get used to his presence before he approached her.

“So… How are you?” he starts, his voice so quiet and soft it almost feels alien.

It’s just a simple question. Just some nicety. It shouldn’t bother her. It shouldn’t.

But it does.

She closes her laptop and puts it on the coffee table, but fixes her gaze from the closed lid. She just can’t look at him.

“Stop. Please… Just stop.”

She hears him take a sharp breath. It must be confusing for him.

“Skye, I…” he starts, then stops; she speaks before he could start again.

“Why so you have to act like this?” It’s out before she could think it through. For the first time since he sat down with her, she raises her head and looks into his eyes. “This… nice? Why can’t you be a jerk? An insufferable, cocky bastard?”

“I… Skye?”

“Because I wish you were. It would be easier that way.”

Concerns slowly overwhelms the confusion in his eyes. He sets down the mug, stands, then settles again right next her on the couch, their tights almost touching – yet, he seems to be afraid to touch her.

“Why?”

This is the point when her tears win.

“Because all this you being nice and funny… and _good_ … It’s making me want to be with you.”

He cradles her face in his hands, brushing her tears away with his thumb, and she lets him – she lets him, because she sees the painful spark of hope in his eyes.

“And why is it a bad thing?”

“Because I can’t! Don’t you see? I just can’t…” Completely out of her own control, she throws her arms around him and buries her face in his neck. “Because if it’s all just a façade again… Because if you hurt me again… I won’t survive it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a special day for me – ten years ago today I published my first ever fanfiction :)


	45. The Other Side of the Door

_I said, "Leave," but baby all I want is you_   
_To stand outside my window throwing pebbles_   
_Screaming, "I'm in love with you."_

It might be a universal truth that if you repeatedly tell someone that you don’t want anything from them (moreover you inform them that you don’t even want to see them and that they are traitorous bastards), they won’t come to you to confess their undying love for you.

No matter how bad you wish for it.

And the saddest in the whole ordeal is that you could remedy the situation simply by coming clean and being honest – two things that could have prevented the whole deal in the first place –, but your big damn pride just won’t let you.

Correction: it won’t let you when you’re sober and it’s taking the front row seat. But somehow if you have one too many drinks, it scatters to the back, leaving you alone, and letting your stupid heart do all the talking.

Skye, of course, learns it in the hard way.

She knows something is not right the moment the first sparks of consciousness appear in her mind. She feels like shit. Her head is pounding and her mouth is about as dry as the Sahara. Not to mention that her stomach seems to think that it wouldn’t be the worst idea to lose its contents.

She groans in agony.

The next stage of awakening is assessing the situation. She is in a bed, that’s for sure. Lying on her stomach, her face pressed into the pillow. Her pillow? It smells familiar… She grabs around with her left hand – bingo. She clutches a stuffed tiger – great, she is in her own bed. And she’s been tucked in – she can feel the covers against the bare skin of her neck and arms. And – she wiggles her toes – no shoes. Awesome. Now… Okay, no pants either. Not so great – especially since she can’t remember how she got back to her room. All she remembers is…

She was having drinks with the guys – Hunter and Trip and Fitz, and even Mack, she thinks, and she was having a great time, but at some point they were starting to go to bed, and she was left alone, tipsy and not at all sleepy yet, and that’s when he – Ward – appeared, and by then she was past the point of caring or pretending, so she told him he could join her, if he wanted to, and then…

Damn. Damn. Damn.

She can’t remember, but it can’t be good.

“Water?”

Skye’s head shots up (er, something like that; she can’t really move fast right now), panicked, and her eyes meet Ward’s. He’s sitting on the floor, with his back against the bed, wearing yesterday’s clothes, looking a little sleep-deprived, but otherwise no worse for wear. Actually, he looks kinda happy.

Skye raises an eyebrow (then she congratulates herself for managing this complicated maneuver while hangover). That bastard even has the audacity to smile at her, like she was amusing (and like she was, even with terrible bed hair and bags under her eyes, like an angel descended from the Heavens), then reach for her bedside table, to grab a water bottle from there – a water bottle she doesn’t remember putting there. From next to the bottle he also produces an aspirin. Bless his soul.

She sits up (slowly), and takes them from him (keeping a distance and waking up to him in her room to be damned, the worst hangover of her life rewrites the rules). She throws the pill into her mouth, then drowns about half the bottle.

“So,” Ward starts, turning towards her, one elbow on the mattress, as she recaps the bottle. “How much do you remember of last night?”

Skye frowns.

“Questions like these usually indicate that there is something I should remember.” He actually chuckles, what makes her bury her face in her palms. “Okay, what completely stupid thing did I do?”

“It wasn’t stupid – well it depends how you look at it.” His hand hover over her knee like he wants to touch her, but then he decides against it, and lets it fall back to the duvet. “You just said, well to be fair, after about three shots – and that’s just what I saw you drink –, that you loved me.”

Skye lets out a sound that is not entirely human.

“I did?” she asks, her voice entirely too high, peeking at him from between her fingers.

He grins. Like an idiot. Like a lovesick idiot.

“You did. It was rather adorable, really. You kept trying to prove how I was the only one for you. How hot I was – you even said something about my biceps, I think. Something like that they’re distracting. Then you went on saying that it was stupid of you keeping pushing me away. And then you said you wanted to have my ba–“

This is the point she throws her pillow at him, but, of course, he ducks in time. And then he starts laughing. Like, guffawing. She kind of wants to strangle him. Only she doesn’t want to move. Also, he’s rather cute this way.

“And then?” she asks almost timidly when his laughs quieten. He sobers up immediately.

“Nothing much. You passed out. I brought you in, took off your shoes and jeans, and tucked you in. You’ve been asleep ever since,” he says, giving her pillow back.

Her eyes widen as she hugs the pillow close to her chest.

“You have been with me ever since?”

“Well, I left to get you water and a painkiller, but other than that, yeah, I’ve been here.”

“Why?”

He shrugs, like it isn’t even worth discussing.

“Well, you said you loved me last night, and you know what they say – drunk people tell the truth. So I wanted to be here when you woke up to ask you – is it true?”

She is way too tired and hungover for a serious conversation like this – but he’s looking at her with wide, hopeful eyes, so she just can’t live him hanging.

“I’m­… Ugh… Can’t we just revisit the topic once I’ve had enough sleep to properly function again?” She asks, and sees the lights go out in his eyes right away. Her throat tightens.

“Sure,” he says a little sad, a little broken, as he stands up from the floor.

“Ward?” she speaks, making him turn back towards her. “Maybe you could… stay? And you know, it’s a pretty big bed. And it’s sure as hell more comfortable than the floor. “To make it clear what she’s saying, she lifts of the corner of the duvet, inviting him to slip under it. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Alright,” he says, stepping back to the bed, kicking his shoes off, then sitting down on the mattress. Skye’s already lying back down, her cheek resting on the pillow, eyes closing.

“But Ward? If you hog the cover, I’ll kick you off the bed,” she warns, making him chuckle as he settles down beside her.

“Whatever you say, Rookie, whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s 1168 words. It’s not a drabble – it’s a freaking one-shot. This happens when I just start writing and let the story flow without any concrete plans…


	46. Superman

_I watch superman fly away_   
_You've got a busy day today_   
_Go save the world, I'll be around_

It should be a normal, busy Monday morning after a blissful, lazy weekend of staying out late and sleeping in. And to some extent, it is.

Only instead of boring office files Phil is putting classified dockets into his briefcase, and instead of a pager, he clips on a gun. And instead of the office, he’s going to…

“Where are you going, exactly? “ Audrey asks, sitting at the counter, still in her dressing gown, nursing a mug of coffee.

“That’s, ah… classified,” he says with his back to her, but smiling at her reflection as he’s adjusting his tie in front of the hallway mirror. “But feel free to call me late into the night,” he adds with that secretive little smirk of his that tells her he’s just given her some information.

“So this mission is… in Asia?” His tie, that nice blue one she bought him, is still not perfect, the knot a little askew, so she stands up, walks up to him, and gently turning him towards her, adjusts it for him.

“I never said it was,” he answers, almost cheekily. She just can’t keep herself from returning his smile before pressing the softest of kisses against his lips.

“When will you be back?”

Hearing her question, he turns away from her; it’s always a sensitive subject. It might be a week. It might be a month. He might not come back. You can never know with S.H.I.E.L.D.

“It should be a fairly simple op,” he says quietly. “A week, maybe ten days. I’m not sure. But I’ll be back for your big concert, I promise.”

Audrey just sighs, willing her tears not to fall, while she forces a smile on her face and says a silent prayer, asking everything that is saint and holy and divine, to bring him back to her.

“Alright. But I expect a big bouquet of roses when you get back.”

“Red?” he asks as he closes his briefcase and picks up his duffel – ready to go.

“Of course.” She kisses him again, longer this time, telling herself that this is not a ‘goodbye kiss’, but a ‘see you soon kiss’. “Now go, save the world!”

He laughs that little laugh she fell in love with, then starts walking towards the door.

“As you wish!” are his last words as he leaves. Audrey just hopes they are not the last ones she’ll ever hear from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one in this fandom who prefers Philharmonic over Philinda.Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one in this fandom who prefers Philharmonic over Philinda.


	47. Superstar

_I'm no one special, just another_   
_Wide eyed girl who's desperately in love with you_   
_Give me a photograph to hang on my wall, superstar_

Skye’s wallpaper on her laptop is a candid photo of Thor.

It’s a little something Grant picks up early in their relationship, and subsequently decides not to care about it. It is, after all, nothing. Just some silly fangirl thing.

And he really doesn’t care about it.

For a while.

Then Coulson announces that they are expecting a visit from the Asgardian – then he starts caring about it.

Because _Thor’s biceps_ and _Thor’s hair_ and _Thor’s abs_ become a breakfast topic amongst the girls. And they swoon. And fan themselves. And giggle. And it would simply be annoying if only Skye wouldn’t join the conversations.

But as she does, now that bothers him.

And suddenly the picture on her laptop starts to bother him.

Because Thor suddenly being within arm’s reach (he’s arriving at the base within twenty-four hours!) means that he’s no longer a faraway idea, but an actual human (more or less) being who might or might not pose a threat to him (to his relationship).

(Yes, he sees the irony in the situation: he, who can act like the cockiest bastard, feels insecure because of another man, just because his girlfriend has a picture of him and because, well, because the other guy is a god. Sort of.)

He tries not to make a deal out of it, tries not to let it show that he’s, well… Scared? Jealous? An idiot who is not secure enough in his relationship to not to freak out about another man whom his girlfriend might fancy?

Jealous. He’s going with jealous. That’s the least embarrassing.

Only he must be doing a terrible job of it, because, apparently, Skye picks his sour mood up, and corners him about it. Like, literally corners him.

She waits until everyone leaves the kitchen after dinner – the night before Thor is supposed to arrive –, and when the two of them are left together, she backs him into a chair.

“Let’s make something abundantly clear,” she says, putting her hands on his shoulders and leaning close to him, their noses almost touching. “Thor might be dreamy, yes…” She climbs into his lap, her knees bracketing his hips. “And it’s fun to fawn over the idea of him…” Her lips graze over the sensitive skin where his jaw and neck meet. “But that’s it.” She sucks his earlobe into her mouth. “He doesn’t hold a candle to you,” she whispers into his ear. “And I don’t want anybody else, but you,” she finishes, finally kissing him.

That night he might or might not make love to her on the top of the kitchen counter.

And the next day, when introductions are made, and he catches the Asgardian give Skye and appreciative glance, all he can think of is “okay, watch, because that’s all what you’re getting.”

(And okay, he might sneak an arm around her waist for good measure.)

(The next they he notices that her wallpaper has been changed to a picture of them.)

(He loves it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda feel bad for making it sound like Jane doesn’t exists – but let’s just say that neither Grant or Skye know of her, that’s why she doesn’t appear in their thoughts/monologues.


	48. Hey, Stephen

_'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel,_   
_Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain._   
_So come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you._   
_Can't help it if there's no one else._   
_Mmm, I can't help myself._

Skye has never been a cuddly, turning into goo, putting on pink glasses kind of girl in a relationship.

Correction: she had never been that kind before Grant.

The level their blooming relationship affects her is unexpected and completely astonishing. The physical attraction, of course, has always been there between them – she can barely remember a time when she didn’t feel like jumping him. But now that they are officially together, it’s not just sexual attraction (though that is still there, and doesn’t seem like it’ll ever disappear or even lessen), but a powerful feeling of “when did the world get so bright?”

It’s not just she likes being with him – it’s more like that she loathes being apart from him (and if it speaks of unhealthy attachment, she doesn’t care). She likes to touch him – like being able to hold his hand, or lay her head on his shoulder, or putting her feet in his lap as he reads on the couch. And having his head in her lap, his face smooth and unburdened by worry as she plays with his hair is just about the best thing in the world.

He inspires her – to be better, to work harder, to focus, to not to slack off training. And it shows in her progress. Also, it’s kinda ironic – seeing that the main concern surrounding them getting together was that it would distract them from their jobs. (Okay, true, he might have gotten a little overprotective of her, but it’s not like it compromises him during missions; they can handle it.)

She likes sleeping with him. Just, like, _sleeping_. Having him next to her as she dreams. Cuddling, and getting entangled in each other, and using his chest as a pillow. And there’s barely a feeling better in the world than him encircling her waist in his half-asleep state, pulling her closer to him. And of course the sex is great. Earth shattering. The best she’s ever had, and it’s just getting better as they keep learning each other.

And it’s not just physical things. They talk – like late into the night, discussing everything and nothing. Sharing memories and favorites and creating new ones. Developing little inside jokes that drive the others crazy. And Grant is opening up, showing a new side of himself every day, making her fall a little harder every day.

And so this whole thing is making her giddy. And maybe a little clingy. Because there’s a constant need raging in her body to be near him, be with him. To touch him. And when she looks into his eyes, she honestly feels like melting right there.

And honestly, she’s feel embarrassed about it if she wouldn’t see that she has the same reaction on Grant. Is she wouldn’t see his dopey grin when he looks at her. If she wouldn’t notice him touching her whenever he can. If there wouldn’t be all those careful caresses and gently kisses. If she wouldn’t know that he loves her.

Because he loves her.

And she loves him.

Damn. _She loves him._


	49. Back to December

_You've been good, busier than ever,_   
_We small talk, work and the weather,_   
_Your guard is up and I know why._   
_Because the last time you saw me_   
_Is still burned in the back of your mind._   
_You gave me roses and I left them there to die._

Asking for forgiveness is hard. About as hard as facing your mistakes every single day.

Ward is back. With Agent 33 – Kara – in tow, a little rougher, a little colder, and still handled with a level of distrust, but he’s back, and a small, irrational part of her has thought that it would mean that things will, more or less, go back to normal, like they were before the HYDRA reveal. That they would start the dance again – the slight dislike at first, not actually understanding that other’s views, disagreements, then growing closer, sharing easy banter, light flirting, rediscovering the love they once had.

Of course it’s not what’s happening.

Ward is keeping his distance. Leaves the room when she enters. Talks to her only when it’s completely necessary. And even when he talks to her he’s cold, indifferent.

There’s none of that gentle kindness in his eyes that she once got used to without realizing it.

It hurts. Hurts more than she’d like to admit.

It hurts enough that she decides to push her pride aside and do something about it.

She knows enough about his daily routine by now that she knows where to find him any given time of the day – and there he is where she expects him to be, in the gym, hanging from the rod, doing pull ups, the muscles in his backs tense and defined. The exercise brings up bittersweet memories of a simpler time.

Even with his back to her, and without her making a sound, he still senses her presence. He freezes for a moment mid-movement, body suspended in the air, his muscles tense from more than just the exercise. Then he drops to the floor, graceful like a puma, and, takes a fleeting glance at her – maybe checking if she has a weapon, she thinks bitterly –, then turns his back to her once again and walks to his stuff lying in the corner.

“Wait!” she calls, holding her hand out and taking a step towards him. “I just want to talk.”

He lets out a sound that is somewhere between a groan and a dark chuckle while he starts packing, throwing towels and water bottles into a duffel.

“Well, talk all you want. You never seemed to have a problem with it before.” The _but I won’t be listening_ is right there in the subtext.

She sniffs. I hasn’t even realized until now how close she is to crying.

“I fucked up, alright?” she snaps. “I shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have shot you. I won’t lie, I wanted to hurt you, but I never wanted to kill you. And I’ve regretted it. I was regretting like two minutes after I’d done it. And I shouldn’t have done it – I know it now. And believe me when I say, if I could, I would go back and change things, I would. But I can’t, and…” She takes a deep breath. “I just want to make things right. I just want… I just want things to be like they used to be, even if I know it can never happen.” She casts her eyes down, and feels a single tear slide down her face. She more like feels than hears him move, but as he is just about to walk pass by her in his way out of the gym, she raises her head, and looks into his eyes. “I miss you, Grant.”

He keeps the eye contact for a fraction of a second after her words are spoken. Then he almost invisibly shakes his head, and continues walking.

But a moment later he stops once again, and without turning towards her, he says, “I miss you too.”

And then he’s gone.


	50. Begin Again

Skye has never intended to fall in love with her S.O.

Well, honestly, the story starts where she didn’t plan on falling in love with anybody for a while. The scars Miles’ betrayal left were still raw, even if their relationship had been mostly based on mutual respect and admiration rather than on love for a while before their break up (thinking about it now, she should have seen the downfall coming when she went to L.A. and he remained in Austin). So no, thank you, she was okay without the burden of a relationship for now.

Not to mention that falling for your supervising officers sounds bad even in theory – even if the S.O. in question is tall, dark, and dangerously handsome –, because a relationship like that can only bring problems.

So, to repeat: no, she didn’t plan on falling for Grant Ward. On the contrary: she was adamant about not falling for him.

And yet she did. Bad.

She can’t exactly pinpoint out when it happened – maybe somewhere between when she first hit the center of the target in gun practice and when he learned how she liked her coffee. She just woke up one day, and found herself to be eager to go down to the cargo bay for training, because it meant that she could spend time with him.

When this realization first hit her, she stopped and scolded herself. No. She was not getting herself entangled in this mess. Not again.

Keeping herself in check and restraining her emotions worked for a while.

Then one evening finds them in the lounge, sharing some booze and a couple of stories, and they are laughing until they can hardly speak and their cheeks are red. And it’s the breaking point. Because it’s when his mask slips, and when he looks into her eyes, she can see the same longing in his irises that she feels in her heart. And he reaches out to touch her cheek, and she leans into his palm, and she thinks that if he wants to kiss her now, she won’t protests.

Only he doesn’t kiss her, just shakes his head slightly, and turns his gaze away from her face, looking almost shy. And she feels kind of disappointed, because, she realizes, she was looking forward that kiss. But then he speaks.

“Look, I was thinking… Maybe we could go out sometime? Have dinner or something. Just us – no S.H.I.E.L.D., no duties, no training. Like a date?”

This is the moment – the moment she says _to the hell with this whole thing_. She loves him; he seems to love her. Common sense to be damned, she is not going to deny herself this.

So she kisses him.


	51. Style

_I should just tell you to leave 'cause I_   
_Know exactly where it leads but I_   
_Watch us go 'round and 'round each time_

When she first vouches for Lance to Coulson, it seems like a good idea. Their mission with Mack is a risky one, and it’s always good to have somebody at her side whom she can trust. At that moment she doesn’t think about how this decision could turn against her. She doesn’t think about what always happens when she and Lance meet.

She only thinks that she misses him.

It’s only later, when everything goes downhill, that she realizes what a mistake she made.

Because, of course, what everybody could have foreseen happens – despite their best efforts, despite their still painful scars, they get entangled in each other once again. They realize that the love that once tied them together is still there, burning brighter than ever.

And for a little while she’s happy, because she’s right there where she belongs.

But then she realizes – she is made realize – that Lance compromises her mission. That she is way over her head, wishing for things that can’t happen, not now.

So she pushes him away.

But it’s too late

The damage is done – on both sides.

And here she stands, where she always does after their dance ends: without him, her mission over, defeated.


	52. Out of the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I’m focusing on a piece of lyrics rather than the whole song itself. I hope it’s okay :)

_The night we couldn't quite forget_   
_When we decided (we decided)_   
_To move the furniture so we could dance_

Their apartment – it’s not a home just yet; it’s too new, too unlived – is a big mess. There are boxes everywhere – a couple of them filled with their clothes and the knick-knacks they have collected during their time spent living on the Bus and different bases; the others are boxes from Ikea, waiting to be opened and assembled. To be honest, Skye’s kind of looking towards that – putting furniture together has always seemed like fun from the outside.

It’s their first night in their new place – the first night of the new chapter of their lives. They know what they should be doing: they should start unpacking, freeing at least their clothes from the confines of boxes and bags, maybe get started on putting together the bedframe (which was rather fun to choose), so they wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor on the bare mattress.

And yet they show no inclination to get down to work. No, they rather just push the cardboard boxes against the walls of their would-be living room, so the middle of the room is free.

And then they dance, dance in the dim light of the streetlamps.

There’s no music – her speakers are hidden somewhere in the hill of boxes. He hums some melody unfamiliar to her, but it is disrupted by his chuckling, brought upon by her smile. They are barefoot, they don’t follow the steps of any known dances, they bump into each other, then cling to the other, his arms around her waist, hers around his neck, her smile against his skin.

There’s work to be done, but they are too happy, too lost in each other to talk even think about it.

And they have a lifetime to make a home of this apartment.


	53. The Way I Loved You

_He can't see the smile I'm faking_   
_And my heart's not breaking_   
_Cause I'm not feeling anything at all_   
_And you were wild and crazy_   
_Just so frustrating intoxicating_   
_Complicated, got away by some mistake and now…_

Her relationship with Lincoln is based more on convenience and legacy than real feelings – he’s Gordon’s protégé, who used to be her mother’s protégé, so it’s almost like they were destined to be together. And he really is a nice guy – kind, funny, handsome. Not to mention that they are the same – two Inhumans.

On paper, they should work.

And they do.

On the surface.

She can fake being happy with him. It’s rather easy, really. She is, after all, comfortable with him. But nothing more. Just comfortable.

Because whenever Lincoln touches her, she remembers Ward’s hands on her during training, or when he held her, protecting her from harm. When Lincoln kisses her, she remembers how Ward’s lips felt against hers, how hungry he seemed for her love. When she has sex with Lincoln, she can’t help but wonder how would it feel to make love to Ward.

Because, despite her best efforts, she just can’t love Lincoln. She can be with him; she can pretend to be happy with him; but she can’t love him.

Because he doesn’t make her heart beat like crazy. Because he doesn’t make her whole body tingle. Because he doesn’t occupy her thoughts non-stop. Because she doesn’t daydream about him, imagining their future together.

Because she is still in love with Grant, and she is afraid this fact will never change.


	54. Sparks Fly

_Drop everything now,_  
_Meet me in the pouring rain,_  
 _Kiss me on the sidewalk,_  
 _Take away the pain_

There are only so many times a man can have near brushes with death without saying “dam it all”, throw every caution out of the window, and do exactly what his heart has been telling him to do for months.

For Grant, this point comes on a rainy Thursday, just after dusk.

They went against a Centipede compound – and what waited for them inside wasn’t anything like they had expected.

There were about twice as many Centipede soldiers as they anticipated, not to mentions other, heavily armed guards, at least a dozen of them. Even with the task team S.H.I.E.L.D. had sent, they were sorely outnumbered.

He got tossed around. A bullet grazed his thigh. He got knocked through a wall. He suspected he had a broken rib or two, and a black eye. By time they subdued everybody, he was more than pissed.

But it wasn’t the worst.

Skye’s comms went down halfway through the mission.

Cut off from the others of the team, fighting Centipede soldiers left and right, he was slowly going mad, screaming inside. He didn’t know if she was okay and it was just a technical problem or…

He didn’t even want to think about it. He just wanted it to be over, so he could go out and find her.

So he fought.

And fought.

Until there was nobody left to fight.

When the command comes over his comm that the mission is over and every agent is to meet outside in the yard, he sets off running, not caring about the pain, not caring about the rain, not stopping until he rounds the corner of the building and the others come into view.

Then his heart skips a beat.

She is there – with a light bruise on her face, but other than that seemingly unharmed.

As if sensing him, she turns towards him, her eyes lighting up.

His mouth pulls into a smile on its own accord.

Before he realizes what he is doing, he is running again, running towards her.

She begins walking towards him, too, but barely takes three steps before he reached her.

Time seems stand still for a moment.

It is a decision made in a fraction of a moment – a decision to say “damn it all”, to throw every caution out of the window and do exactly what his heart has been telling him to do for months.

His left arm sneaks around her waist, finding purchase on her lower back. He pulls her close, almost roughly, while he takes her chin in his right hand. He stares into her eyes, glistening from unshed tears, relief, longing.

And then he is kissing her, his bruised lips on her soft ones, caressing, brushing, nipping, begging, loving.


	55. Fifteen

_You take a deep breath and you walk through the doors  
It's the morning of your very first day_

Skye knows exactly what she is doing, and why she is doing it ( _she is infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D. to find her parents, nothing more, nothing less_ ), but it’s still strange, and somewhat uncomfortable.

In her plans, she was just going to go in, do her task, then disappear, once and for all, never looking back. For the lack of better word, she was going to use S.H.I.E.L.D., selfishly, for her own gain.

But she didn’t think of something – she didn’t think of the people she would meet during this mission of hers. Because all these agents around her, of whom she only wanted to think of as tools, government machines in dark suits, are actually people. And on the top of it, nice people.

The boss, Coulson, is like a good teacher – kind, smart, a good listener, understanding, but can be strict and even scary when needed. The pilot, May, is stoic and distant and deadly, but Skye can still see that she cares. Ward is all tough and angry and acts like he would rather be anywhere but here, but she has seen him smile, which was one, a damn great sight, and two, it told her that he is more than what he shows of himself to the world. The two scientists, Fitz and Simmons, are like little, overly eager puppies, always there, always excited, always curious. They are about as cute, too.

And no matter what her real goal here is, she can’t help but like them. Because they are nice and kind and accepting, welcoming her (more or less) with open arms. Because they are willing to get to know her, inviting her into their world.

And it’s like the first day of a new school all over again – she wants them to like her.

(Even though she knows it can only end in heartbreak.)


	56. Innocent

_It's alright, just wait and see_   
_Your string of lights is still bright to me_   
_Oh, who you are is not what you've been_   
_You're still an innocent_   
_It's okay, life is a tough crowd_   
_32, and still growin' up now_   
_Who you are is not what you did._   
_You're still an innocent._

Skye wakes to Grant tossing and groaning in his sleep. It’s not the first time she woke up to him having a nightmare, not even close, but it’s still as horrible as the first time.

Drenched in sweat, he is mumbling nonsense, and his brow is furrowed in agony as she tries to wake him – it takes excruciatingly long every single time. When he finally comes around, it’s  slow – he stops trashing, his breathing calms down, the lines of his face soften. When he opens his eyes at last, his gaze is unfocused at first, as if he is still in the clutches of his dream, unsure if she is really with him or is she just a mirage.

Then, when he realizes where he is and that she is real, he clings to her, like she’s a lifeline. She lets him, drawing his head to her breast, caressing his hair to comfort him.

She lets him calm down first, lets his heartrate go down to normal, before she asks anything.

“What was it this time?”

She talked with Andrew about it, about Grant’s “episodes” – he advised her to ask, to give him a chance to talk, but let him keep his silence if he doesn’t feel like sharing.

Sometimes he talks. Sometimes he doesn’t.

This time, he starts speaking after a couple of seconds, his arms tight around her waist.

“Garrett.” He swallows, taking a couple of seconds to compose himself. “I was back in the woods, all alone, it was dark and cold, and I was scared, and then… He came. Called me worthless and a failure, shaking a pistol in his hand, and I thought he was going to shoot me, but then… Then you were there. You looked at me, terrified, and…” A sob breaks free from his throat, and she can feel his tears on her forearm. “He wanted me to kill you. He gave me a gun and told me to shoot you, because you were a distraction and a mistake, and I didn’t deserve you anyway, so… so you had to die. Not just because you were in his way, but as a punishment, because I fucked it up. But I couldn’t do it. I pleaded with him, but he just laughed at me and called me pathetic, and then…”

He doesn’t have to say it for her to know how the dream ended.

She holds him closer and presses a kiss to the top of his head, assuring him that she is there, that he is not in the woods anymore, that he is not alone.

“You are none of those things, you know that, right?” She says, slowly, gently coaxing him to raise his head and look into her eyes. “You are a good person. An amazing one. You just had terrible things happen to you. You were used in a way nobody should be used, ever.” She kisses his forehead, his nose, his eyes. “But it’s over. You are here now, among people who love you,” she continues, her forehead resting against his. “You cannot let the past shape you. You are not the man Garrett wanted you to be. I won’t let you to be. And Garrett can rot in hell.”

This actually makes him let out a wet chuckle.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“You were yourself.” This time she kisses his mouth, gently, lovingly. “Are you okay to go back to sleep? Or do you want to stay up? Watch a movie or something?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “Let’s just sleep. I know that you must be exhausted.”

She wants to argue, wants to tell him that it’s not about her, but knows better; knows him well enough to know that times like this, it’s the best if she lets him take care of her. So she simply nods and lies back down, pulling Grant with her. She settles half lying on top of him, her cheek pillowed on his chest, so she can hear his heartbeat. His arms find their place around her waist right away, pulling her close. She closes her eyes.

“I love you,” she says, as a last effort to make him see how wonderful, how important he is to her.

She feels his lips against the crown of her head.

“Thank you for being you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Even though she knows that it’ll be a while until he falls back asleep, she is out within minutes, knowing that he’ll be okay. And when she wakes the next morning and Grant’s still there, beside her, sleeping peacefully, it’s the best thing in the world.


	57. Stay Beautiful

_You're beautiful_   
_Every little piece love,_   
_And don't you know_   
_You're really gonna be someone,_   
_Ask anyone._

Skye’s so beautiful, inside and out, that it sometimes takes his breath away, and he could write odes about her beauty. And he can’t decide what is the worst thing about it: that he can’t tell her this, or that sometimes it seems like she doesn’t know it herself.

Because Grant can see through her false bravado – he can see the doubts lurking behind the surface. He sees her insecurities: her fear of being unwanted (there’s nothing he wants more than her), of not finding a family, somebody to love her (but he already loves her), of not being good enough (she’s the best, smartest, kindest person he’s ever met), of making a colossal mistake (like he’d let her; or even if she did, like he’d let her shoulder the burden of it alone), of not being enough (like he could ask for more).

These confessions are always at the tip of his tongue whenever he sees her cast her eyes down, shy, unsure of herself. Then he just want to walk up to her, put his arms around her and pull her close, and tell her how beautiful, how perfect she is, tell her enough times to make her believe it.

But he can’t. Not now.

So he just waits and worships her from the distance, wishing for a day when he can be truly honest with her. For a day when she’ll finally be able to see herself in full glory.

And he can just only hope that this day will come.


	58. Christmases When You Were Mine

_Please take down the mistletoe_   
_Cause I don't wanna think about that right now_

Back on the Bus they used joke a lot about what would they do when Christmas came – flooding the intercom system with carols, putting mistletoe in the cockpit and dressing Ward up in a Grinch costume were high on the list. They had plans, stupid little plans, like putting garlands on the railings of the spiral staircase in the cargo hold and baking cookie in the galley, not to mention an all-night-long movie marathon the in the lounge (although they never actually agreed on whether A Nightmare Before Christmas was a Christmas or a Halloween movie). And Skye – who had never had a real, family Christmas before – was looking so forward to it.

It’s a shame it never happened.

HYDRA came out of the shadows weeks before the holidays, so Christmas Eve found them at the Playground.

Simmons gone.

Fitz not himself.

Coulson overstressed.

Ward locked up in the basement.

It was no surprise that nobody felt like celebrating. There was no tree trimmed, no carols sung, no presents exchanged. Nobody got drunk on eggnog, and nobody got a surprise kiss under the mistletoe. The base remained just at quiet and bland as it was on other days, and the holiday passed without anyone even mentioning it.

It was just Skye, alone in her bunk in the middle of the night, who put her hands together, closed her eyes, and made a wish. Not a big one, mind you – she only wished for her family, her whole family, to celebrate together the next year.


	59. Everything Has changed

_'Cause all I know is we said, "Hello."_   
_And your eyes look like coming home_   
_All I know is a simple name_   
_Everything has changed_   
_All I know is you held the door_   
_You'll be mine and I'll be yours_   
_All I know since yesterday is everything has changed_

His fate is sealed the moment the girl with acerbic wit and wide, brown eyes enters his life. He just doesn’t know it yet.

***

He has never been in love, so he has no idea how it feels like. That’s why by the time he realizes he’s falling for her, it’s too late – he is already head over heels in love with her.

***

Suddenly, his world shifts. He sees color where only dull grayness used to be before. His eyes open to the little wonders. It’s terrifying and it’s amazing.

***

Every moment with her is a sweet torture. He loves it and he hates it. He loves it because he can be with her and see her smile. And he hates it because it’s all he can – he dares to – do.

***

He opens up for her. The others notice the change, and joke about it. Say that being on a team did him good after all. He just smiles at them and lets them say whatever they want. They are sure the Apocalypse is near.

***

One day he just gives up. She is too adorable, too beautiful and too divine for him not to kiss her. So he does.

***

When the kiss is over and they pull apart, her eyes flutter open, like a butterfly trying out her new wings. She looks at him from under her lashes and says “Hello.”

***

Who would have thought that you can reborn from a kiss?

***

From that day on, he’s greedy, insatiable. He wants her near every minute of the day. He wants to feel her little hand in his. He wants to tangle his fingers in her silky hair. He wants to have her soft lips against his. He would feel bad about it if Skye wouldn’t be even worse than him.

***

He wouldn’t have thought that it’s possible, but it gets better. He is a little bit happier every single day, until he feels like his heart is about to burst.

***

The morning he wakes to her naked back against his bare chest, her lithe body stretching as she leaves her dream behind, as she basically purrs into the pillow before turning over to give him a good morning kiss, he knows he is finally home.


	60. Beautiful Eyes

_Your beautiful eyes_   
_Stare right into my eyes_

It’s been two months, but Grant still can’t quite wrap his mind around it.

He has a daughter. He is a father.

(He grins like an idiot whenever he thinks of it.)

Haylie woke again, for the third time that night, and he feels more exhausted than after a combat op, and yet, he doesn’t mind. He just turns off the baby monitor, leaves the bed, careful not to wake Skye, and goes to the next room to get his baby.

She stops crying the moment he picks her up; he guesses she was just feeling lonely.

“What’s up, princess?” he says softly and he gently rocks the baby in his arms. He loves her warm weight against his chest, and it astonishes him how quickly she is growing – it seems like yesterday that she was just this wrinkly, pink, wailing little thing placed on Skye’s chest just after she was born. And now?

Now she’s smiling. She lifts her head. And just yesterday she turned around.

He is proud and terrified at the same time, and he feels like his chest is about the burst open from all the love he’s feeling.

Haylie is quiet in his arms, but very much awake, one of his fingers in the grip of her tiny hand, her eyes wide open. She actually makes eye contact now, not just stares off into the distance, her eyes unfocused.

He can’t help but get lost in those eyes. They are still deep blue – Jemma says it’s normal, that most babies are born with blue eyes, and that they’ll change –, but he can already see her irises darkening. He kind of hopes that in the end they’ll turn into the same deep brown shade Skye has.

The baby gurgles and grips his finger tighter, obviously delighted. And he is just grinning like an idiot.

“Everything alright?” Skye asks, only half awake, standing at the door of the nursery. It looks like he wasn’t careful enough not to wake her. Or it’s just her newfound mom instincts working.

“Sure,” he whispers, as Haylie’s eyelids are finally dropping. “She was just lonely, I guess.”

Skye smiles and closes her eyes for a moment.

“Give me my baby!” she demands playfully a beat later, already reaching for her. Grant wants to protest first – Skye looks like she could use some more rest, and anyway, he doesn’t want to let go of Haylie just yet –, but then the baby’s eyes open again, almost like she knows her mom is near, and she starts fussing, but she calms once again as soon as she’s in her mother’s arms.

“Hello, baby girl,” Skye babbles, settling down on the old rocking chair she found in some antique shop and fell in love with. He sits down beside them on a footstool, his gaze focused on the baby’s tiny, peaceful face.

A minute later it seems like Haylie is out like the light once again – they could easily put her back into her cradle and go back to sleep, and yet they stay there, admiring their little miracle a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t my original plan, but the song was rather up to interpretation, and then I started to talk to grantsskye about my Skyeward baby headcanons and so… this happened.


	61. I Heart ?

Jemma is not very proficient in girl talk – she is, however, an excellent listener.

“And I was stupid enough to believe him – like I really thought he was a stand-up guy, and then it turns out he was lacking a spine all along…” Skye rants on, and she is listening, she really does; she even nods and u-hms at the right places.

It all started about twenty minutes ago, when Skye came into her bunk to apologize for what happened with Miles. Jemma wasn’t even really mad at her to begin with, so it was easy to forgive, and then they started talking, and somehow they got to the now and Skye’s monologue about her now-ex.

“I mean, what was he thinking? Selling out information, even if he thought he wouldn’t hurt anybody…”

Jemma just nods, but her thoughts aren’t exactly focused on what Skye’s saying. They are more along the lines off “she is better off without him anyway.”

And really – what did she even see in that man? Okay, she’ll admit, Miles Lyndon was aesthetically pleasing, but during that short time they spent together he seemed like a… cold fish. There was absolutely no… what to call it? Chemistry? Sexual tension? Between him and Skye.

“And then had the nerve to say that he did it for me… That jackass…”

Yep, with that, Jemma can agree. Miles Lyndon is a jackass.

But back to the previous problem: there were honestly no sparks between him and Skye. To be frank, she has seen more sparks between Skye and Ward on a regular Tuesday than between Skye and Miles when they were reunited after months spent apart.

Hm. Skye and Ward.

“And he was like it made it all okay. Like I was supposed to welcome him back, and maybe throw off my clothes and get in the bed right away…”

Now, Skye and Ward would make a good couple. An interesting one, that’s for sure. They already work so well together as trainee/S.O. Now imagine if they would take a step forward… Ward could use Skye’s positivity to let loose a little, while Ward could ground Skye before she went too far.

“Like… How dare he? But you know what? I was the idiot in this one. I should have known better.”

Yes, their personalities would balance each other out very nicely, and with that sexual tension already there, they would surely click just fine. Well, maybe they would make living on the same plane with them a little awkward at times, but Jemma’s sure they’d make each other happy, so she’s willing to make that sacrifice.

And anyway, really, it would be like a science experiment – merging two chemicals with great individual attributes, and see how they react to each other. Hm, she’d like that.

“I should have never gotten entangled with him. It was just so stupid. I was so stupid…”

“Maybe you should just find somebody new,” she blurts out.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I just need somebody to forget.”

“What about Ward?”

“What about him?”

Jemma doesn’t answer, just looks at Skye very suggestively. After about ten seconds Skye shakes her head, as if to shake off her confusion, and says, “You can’t be serious.” But when Jemma just continues watching her, giving her an adorable little shrug, she continues, “You are being serious.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, Jemma,” she exclaims, turning her gaze at the ceiling. “Because he’s such a pain in the ass sometimes, and all so serious and intense all the time, and it’s so hard to make him smile, and… And anyway, why would he want me?”

Jemma readies herself to answer that question.

“Well, first of all–“

“Wait, don’t even say a word – just don’t. It’s a stupid idea. And anyway… you know what?” she asks, standing up from Jemma’s bed. “I’m not over Miles yet anyway. Let’s cross off angry dating from the list for now.” She reaches for the door. “It’s better if I go now – I have a bunch of stuff to do. Bye, Jemma!” And with that she steps out of her bunk, but a second later sticks her head in once again. “Just for the record: do you think the Robot likes me?”

Jemma smiles at her friend.

“I’m sure he does.”

Skye thinks about it for a moment, then she nods.

“Okay. Thanks, Jemma. Good night!” And with that, she is gone.

Jemma stands up with a gentle smile on her face and a million thoughts in her head. Now, it seems like she managed to plant the seed in Skye’s head, she contemplates as she starts making the bed. But for her little science experiment to work, she’ll need both chemicals to participate. Hm… Maybe she should tell Fitz about it, bring him in. Maybe the two of them could find a way to make Ward realize what a great couple he and Skye would make.

Who is she kidding? They would surely find the way.

Oh, she can’t wait to see her experiment in action.


	62. Wonderland

_So we went on our way_  
_Too in love to think straight_

When he comes back to the team, Fitz gives him a curious advice:

“Don’t start a fight with an Inhuman, because I don’t think Jemma has forgiven you enough to patch you up after.”

He doesn’t understand him at first – the only Inhuman he knows is Skye, and even though she shot him, he has no intentions of getting into a fight with her. And anyways, he is over her (at least he keeps telling himself that). So he just gives Fitz a tight smile and assures him that he doesn’t have to worry.

But then about three hours later he understands what Fitz meant – because he meets Lincoln.

Perfect little Lincoln with his boy-next-door smile, eagerness to help and med school anecdotes. Lincoln, with his flawless Inhuman upbringing and annoying habit of always hanging around Skye, desperately trying to get her attention (what is even more annoying is that he seems to succeed).

(Okay, Grant might not be so over Skye as he’d like to think.)

(Okay, he might still be in love with her.)

And the worst is that he can’t really avoid the guy – who somehow picks up that Grant doesn’t like him, and that all roads lead back to Skye. So it’s no surprise that their relationship quickly turns… tense.

And two weeks later what Fitz warned him not to do happens: he gets into a fight with Lincoln.

He is not even completely sure what sparks the fight – one moment they are in the kitchen, silently preparing their own breakfasts, then Lincoln says something about Skye, something along the lines of her being a good agent (he just lets out some agreeing sound to that, because yeah, she is damn good), and that she had good mentors (he chooses not to react to that, because feels that there must be a catch here), it just a shame she had to fall for one of them (here’s the catch), but at least her taste has improved by now.

And then he grins at him, getting his message through loud and clear – he is the better one, the one who’ll get Skye in the end.

So it might have been Grant who hit first.

Lincoln is nowhere near as trained as he is, and his first right hook does give the guy a nice black eye, but he is a damn Inhuman who has no qualms about using his powers on him – so in the end Grant ends up shocked (literally) and with a nice, bleeding cut at his hairline.

It takes both Lance and Bobbi to break up the fight, but at least they manage to do it before Skye would arrive at the scene – he doesn’t really want to look into her eyes right now.

Remembering of what Fitz told him – that Jemma might not patch him up –, he decides to take care of his injuries himself. He has treated worse wounds, anyway; these are just scratches.

But there is one thing he didn’t take into account: that Skye would follow him.

But she does, marching into the bathroom after him with the force of a smaller hurricane, shutting the door behind her.

“What the hell was that?!” she says, more like shouts, as soon as the door is closed, pushing against his shoulder. “What the hell were you thinking, going against him like that?”

To be honest, he is a little scared by her anger, but his defenses switch on in a moment’s notice, answering her anger with anger.

“Look, I don’t owe you any explanation–“

“Until you start fights in my home, with my friends, the least you owe me is an explanation!”

He almost cowers at that. Almost.

“Oh, so now he is your _friend_ ,” he spats.

“Of course he is my friend!” she counters, throwing her hands up in the air. “He is a nice guy! You’d see it too, if only you gave him a chance, instead of trying to beat the shit out of him the moment he says something you don’t like!”

This is really the point where he starts to lose it.

“Maybe if he didn’t speak of you that way, I wouldn’t have had this terrible urge to smash his face into the table!”

“Let him say whatever he wants! I can handle him! You stay out of it!”

“Of course,” he scoffs, “of course you can handle your little boyfriend.”

There is a sudden change in the atmosphere in the room. Skye stills, and blinks at him. Twice.

“My… what?” she asks, her voice back at normal volume.

“Your… boyfriend?” he says, suddenly not too sure about this. “Aren’t you two together?”

He is not exactly sure what happens next, because one moment Skye is rolling her eyes and muttering something under her breath, and the next she is gripping his shirt, forcing him to bend a little forward, and she is kissing him – hard and fast and bruising.

“I hope this answers your question,” she says once she pulls away. “Now sit, and let me take a look at your head before you go and bleed out on me.” Grant, rather dazed by the unexpected kiss, does what he’s been told, and watches quietly as she pulls out the first aid kit from the bathroom cabinet. “And I meant what I said. Either play nice with Lincoln or avoid him. I really don’t feel like patching you up again.”


	63. Welcome to New York

_Like any great love, it keeps you guessing_   
_Like any real love, it's ever-changing_   
_Like any true love, it drives you crazy_   
_But you know you wouldn't change anything, anything, anything_

Skye is not an idiot – she knows that with their violent and bloody history, she and Grant have no chance of ever being together.

But she is also convinced that they don’t have to be Grant and Skye every single day of their lives.

“So who are we today?” she asks with a smile in her face, sitting down beside him on a bench in Central Park.

Honestly, she can’t even remember when their little game started – it was just there one day. They would meet – first by chance, then on purpose – in a new city, and they would pretend to be somebody else. Somebody without red on their ledger, without the burden of betrayal on their shoulders. They would meet – like it was the very first time –, fall in love, and live a whole life in the span of a single day, just to part the next morning, with no promises of when they would meet again.

(Sometimes it would be just a coffee amongst strangers who felt a little spark when their hands accidentally touched; sometimes they would go far – once they got married under assumed names in Vegas.)

“Hm, let’s see…” he says, looking around, thinking. “You are… Julie Carpenter, an art student from Michigan. You came here to sketch in the Met, but lost your way.”

Skye’s smile widens.

“And you are Collin Fraser, a businessman from London. You came here for a very important meeting, but it was postponed, so you suddenly have the whole day free.”

“And then I run into you.”

“Exactly. Then we’ll see where we can go from there.”

“In that case,” he finally turns towards her, holding out his right hand, “Pleased to meet you, Miss Carpenter.”

Skye – Julie – shakes his hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, Collin.”

The day ends with a very bad sketch of him leaned against a bedside table in the Plaza Hotel, surrounded by clothes.


	64. I'm Only Me When I'm With You

_Friday night beneath the stars,_   
_in a field behind your yard,_   
_you and I are paintin' pictures in the sky._   
_And sometimes we don't say a thing;_   
_just listen to the crickets sing._

Grant has never thought he’d see the day when Coulson sent them on vacation, but, to be honest, he’s glad he did – stating that they had more than their fair share of stress lately, he pressed a bunch of keys into Grant’s hand, told him to take Skye and FitzSimmons, and that their only mission for the next week was to unwind and relax.

And Grant has never been somebody to go against his commanding officer.

The keys he was given turned out to belong to a nice little cabin just outside of a cozy little town, on the edge of the forest, the backyard opening to a line of trees. It was quiet and peaceful, but still close to civilization – simply perfect.

They had their first dinner there – take out, although they promised themselves to actually cook the next day – on the back porch, under the stars, talking, laughing, sharing stories, acting like any other, normal people their age.

With first Jemma, then not long after her Fitz turning in for the night, Grant remained out there alone with Skye, sipping at their beers in comfortable silence. The evening was mild, with the gentlest of breeze and a completely clear sky – and so far from the city, he could see way more starts than he was used to. It was beautiful.

Just as beautiful as she was – because yes, he might have been a bit more enamored with her than with nature. So he just watched her as she watched the skies – then suddenly put down her beer and stood up.

“Where are you going?” he asked. She didn’t answer, not with words, only waved to him to follow her. She walked off the porch, kicking off her shoes, marching into the soft grass barefoot. She took about half a dozen steps, then lay down on the ground, closing her eyes.

“What are you doing?” he chuckled, standing beside her, looking down at her.

She smiled lazily, then opened her eyes.

“I don’t know. It just feels nice. Feels free. Try it!”

He shook his head, amused, but still did what he was told – lowering himself to the ground, he lay down next to her.

As soon as he looked up at the sky, he knew what she meant: they were surrounded by an endless dome of black velvet dotted with sparkling silver, and it felt like the infinity was within reach.

“You can never see something like this in L.A., but still, I’ve always loved the night sky,” she said softly, “and always wanted to know which star was which, but never got around learning it.”

“Well,” he pointed at the sky with one hand, while, boldly, he took her hand into the other. “That’s the Morning Star – or Venus. And that constellation?” He drew the shape into the air. “That’s the Ursa Minor. The Little Bear.”

“Cool,” she sighed. “And what about that?” She pointed at the sky.

“I…” He let out a little chuckle. “I actually don’t know about that one.”

“It’s okay,” she shrugged before turning towards him, propping herself up on her elbow. “It can simply be our star.”

“Our star?” he echoed, getting lost in her eyes.

“Sure. Why not?” she shrugged again. “I know it’s a little cheesy, but I still like the idea.” Then she bit her lower lip, her eyes fluttering away from his. “Now it might be just the situation – and the beer –talking, but I might do something stupid in the next, like ten seconds, so just don’t–“

He didn’t let her finish her sentence. The next moment he was rising from the ground, leaning forward, his hand on her cheek, and he was kissing her.

For a fraction of a second she tensed, startled, then he could feel her smile against his lips as she kissed him back. It was a gentle kiss, almost chaste; soft, warm lips tinted with the bitter aftertaste of the beer, gently brushing against each other, pleading, longing, vowing. When they pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his.

“Wow,” she breathed. “If I had known that the stars would make you this emotional, I would have convinced Coulson sooner to send us out here.”

He did the only reasonable thing in this situation: he laughed, then kissed her again.


	65. Fearless

_And I don't know how it gets better than this_   
_You take my hand and drag me head first_   
_Fearless_

Many people mistake the real definition of bravery: it’s not the lack of fear; it’s the ability to overcome it.

To jump into a mission without fears is stupid – it makes you reckless; fear, well contained, well managed fear makes you cautious. So to survive an op, you need to be brave, not fearless. And the same goes to many other aspects of life.

For example, Grant needed a great deal of bravery to ask out Skye for the first time.

After days spent planning and storing up courage, he chose a simple Thursday afternoon to make his move.

“So, is there anything good at the movies right now?” he asked as casually as he could (maybe a little too casually, making it sound forced) as they were putting away their equipment after training.

“There are some,” she shrugged. “Why? Did you decide you don’t want to live in your cave anymore, and wanna join the pop culture?” she asked teasingly, smiling at him.

“Something like that,” he answered as they put the last mat into its place. “Actually, I was thinking you could give me some advice on what we could watch the next time we touch ground. And then maybe we could discuss it during dinner?”

Skye seemed to freeze in mid-movement.

“Agent Ward, am I misunderstanding something, or are you really asking me on a date?”

It took conscious effort not to stumble all over his words.

“I am. I’d like to take you out – only if you’d like to go, of course.”

For a terrifying moment, he thought she was going to laugh at him, but then she only smiled mischievously.

“Alright. But only if I can really pick the movie. No objections! But you can choose the restaurant.”

So to ask her out, he needed bravery. To actually get to their date – well, that required some fear management, too. But after that?

About ten minutes after their date officially started – standing in line for popcorn –, he was already forgetting that he was supposed to be afraid. It’s been forever since he’d been on a real date, but he was sure that they didn’t use to feel like this – this easy, this effortless.

True, he’d known Skye for a while, and they got on well on an everyday basis, but this, this situation was something else. And they just clicked. Keeping up the conversation had never seemed easier; after some time the corners of his mouth started to ache slightly from smiling. She would be witty and flirty, and he didn’t even have to think about how to flirt back.

She choose some animated movie – half of the audience was under ten –, and a sequel nonetheless, and he had a feeling this should have worried him, but it didn’t. He just sat next to her, sharing a bucket of popcorn with her and discussing what was happening on the screen, forgetting that they weren’t alone in the room (“We are going to a very special level in hell.” “What?” “I’ll show you when we get back to the Bus.”)

The film turned out to be pretty good (and no, it didn’t make him cry), but the company was even better. He left the cinema in such high spirits he hadn’t felt in years. Maybe forever. He felt giddy, happy, silly. So different from what he was used to but he loved the it. He took Skye’s hand and twirled her on the pavement, making her skirt fly, while humming a song from the movie.

And that was when he realized – maybe he needed to be brave for his job, maybe he needed some fears to stay alive. But with Skye? With her, he was completely fearless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internet hugs and cookies to those who can guess what they were watching and what Skye referenced :P


	66. Love Story

_That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles,_   
_And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet"_

Grant Ward came to the conclusion that he would never be on the receiving end of an overprotective father speech around the time he got into juvie.

Sixteen years later it turned out he was wrong.

He stood in Coulson’s office, in front of his desk, legs slightly apart, hands behind his back, shoulders tense, pack straight. His stance, he hoped, broadcasted the confidence he wasn’t sure he had. Meanwhile Coulson calmly – maybe a little too calmly – sat behind his desk, not breaking eye contact for a second.

“Having you work for S.H.I.E.L.D. once again is one thing,” he said finally, in an even, quiet voice. “Trusting you on missions is another.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead between his eyes. “But this thing with Skye?” He shook his head. “I don’t approve of it.”

 _That thing with Skye_ being that they were finally finding their way back to each other, getting past the betrayal and distrust, rediscovering their old connection – and adding some flirty banter here and there. And if everything went according to plan, they would have their first date on Saturday. He was actually getting hopeful, and he wasn’t going to let Coulson damper his mood.

“With all due respect, sir,” he said, “But as a director, what I, or Skye, for that matter, do in our free time, is none of your business as long as it doesn’t interfere with our duties.”

For Coulson’s credit, the corner of his mouth actually twitched at hearing that.

“Of course I’m aware of that. But right now, I’m not speaking as your director. I’m speaking as a concerned father. Skye’s very important to me.”

“Just like she is to me.”

“Exactly.” Coulson nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Now, as the director, I can’t tell you that I’ll have a gun loaded in my drawer in case you hurt her, but as a father…” He let his voice trail off. “Let’s just say that I deeply care for her, and I don’t want to see her hurt. Especially by you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal clear.” It was so hard not to smirk, because technically Coulson wasn’t banning him from pursuing a relationship with Skye; no, he, albeit reluctantly, giving him his consent.

“Then you’re dismissed,” Coulson said, opening a file lying on his desk just to make it abundantly clear that he considered the topic closed. “But Ward?” He called after him just as Grant was about to leave the office. “I don’t want you to forget that I am a concerned father who knows how to operate a gun.”


	67. Tim McGraw

_When you think happiness_   
_I hope you think that little black dress_   
_Think of my head on your chest_   
_And my old faded blue jeans_

There are moments when you really shouldn’t feel happiness, but you just can’t help it.

They got stuck – got stuck in a safe house that really wasn’t much more than a hole in the wall with a bed and a small bathroom, waiting for the extraction team. It was a close call – they almost didn’t get out, the almost died –, and Skye was shaking in her whole body, with mascara streaks on her cheeks, while Grant was bleeding from shallow wounds.

The extraction team was stills hours out, and they had to hold out somehow until that – but Skye looked like she was about to break. So he pulled her into his arms, let the pressure, the body heat, the closeness calm her down. He sat down on the bed, crawling up to the headboard, pulling her with him, letting her rest against him.

She trembled for a little longer, then went still, her breathing evening out – until she fell asleep, her head pillowed on his chest.

And that moment – that moment was… perfect. He didn’t have any other words for. It was perfect – not how they had gotten there, but the moment itself. His heartbeat syncing with hers. The scent of her hair in his nose. Her arm around his waist. The ends of her hair tickling the skin of his hand. His palm resting on her hip. The two of them, exhausted, shaken, bloodied, in complete serenity.

He almost felt disappointed when the extraction team arrived.


	68. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or the one in which Orlissa refuses to write angst.

_Music starts playin' like the end of a sad movie,_   
_It's the kinda ending you don't really wanna see._

He should have known that it would be a bad idea – but then again, sensible thinking hasn’t been his forte lately when Skye is concerned.

It all started with a tentative knock on his bunk door around ten p.m.  When he opened the door, it was her standing on the other side, of course, laptop held close to her chest, looking almost sheepish.

“There’s this movie I have been wanting to watch for a while,” she started, and he just nodded urging her to go on, not really understanding yet what she wanted. “And now I have it, and have the time to watch it, but it’s a sad movie.”

“And?” he asked, maybe a little more sternly that he meant to. It’s just… why did she have to be so difficult to understand?

“And I don’t like watching sad movies alone.” _Oh._ “And FitzSimmons are busy with… stuff, and I can’t really bother A.C. or May with it, so I thought I’d ask is you…?”

This was the point when his bad decision of the night was made.

He sighed and stepped aside letting her inside his bunk.

There was actually a spring in her step as she walked to his bed and sat down, setting up her laptop and waiting for him to get settled beside her.

One and an half hour later she was actually cuddling up to him, her head on his shoulder – which was, admittedly, quite nice –, and was sobbing quietly.

Which wasn’t that nice. Not at all.

He had never known what to do with crying women. Should he have offered her tissues? Nah, she seemed to have that covered. Pat her head and say “there, there”? Definitely no. Don’t say a word, just hold her close?

Now, that one seemed like a valid idea, so he decided to give it a try. He put one arm around her torso, his hand on her shoulder, while the other arm sneaked around her waist, and pulled her gently against his body.

She went rigid the moment he did it.

Not a good sign.

But then she relaxed again, put a hand on his waist, and buried her face in the crook of his neck, her sobs slowly quietening, then stopping.

Thank God, the movie ended ten minutes later – but she still remained pressed against him as the credits rolled. And he won’t lie – it felt rather nice.

But everything good has to end at some point, so when the screen went black, she pushed herself into sitting position, closed the lid of the laptop, and started to get out of bed.

“Well, I have to admit, Robot, you are not a half bad movie watching partner,” she said with red rimmed eyes, but smiling.

He returned the gesture.

“Maybe then we should do it again,” he heard himself say, which made even Skye’s eyes go wide for a moment.

“You know what?” she said when she recovered. “You are right. How does tomorrow night sound?”

“As long as we don’t get a mission, I’m in,” he answered, smiling. Damn his lips. Why did they have to make it so obvious that the prospect of lying in bed with her for two hours or so – while doing nothing, just watching a movie – excited him so?

“Then we have a deal,” she nodded. “But until then, good night, Grant!” and then she turned to leave.

“Skye?” he said just before she could have left, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “What about instead of a sad movie, we watched a comedy tomorrow?”

Her only response was a little, amused chuckle.


	69. Come Back... Be Here

_And this is when the feeling sinks in,_   
_I don't wanna miss you like this,_   
_Come back... be here, come back... be here._   
_I guess you're in New York today,_   
_I don't wanna need you this way,_   
_Come back... be here, come back... be here._

“How are you holding up?”

Skye didn’t even hear Bobbi approaching, so her question startled her a little.

“I’m okay, really,” she answered as soon as she recovered, lowering her tablet, trying to hide the screen. It was a picture of them, Grant and her, one that she had coaxed him into taking. It was a cute picture, but the fact that she was staring at it, completely lost to the world until Bobbi addressed her, kind of betrayed that she was, in fact, not that okay. “It’s not like he’s gone forever. It’s just a month. Six weeks, tops.”

Yes – it wasn’t the end of the world. At least she kept telling herself that. Grant was just away on a mission – a simple espionage op, surveillance and some intelligence gathering, nothing more. Easy, low risk. They were even allowed to keep contact with certain precautionary measures.  And he would be back soon. It really wasn’t the end of the world.

It’s just she missed him so damn much, even though he had only been gone for a couple of days.

“You don’t have to act all tough with me, you know that, right?” the older agent said, sitting down beside her, a bottle of beer in each hand. She offered one to Skye. “I have been in your shoes a couple of times. I know how it sucks.” She took a sip from the beer. “Six weeks after marrying Hunter, I was sent on a mission. Four months in Seville, deep cover, no contact, except with my handler, and even that was minimal. Three weeks in, I was ready to call it quits – I missed him so much, I was really contemplating telling S.H.I.E.L.D. to go to hell, and come home.”

Skye just nods along, smiling slightly, lifting the bottle to her lips.

“I know what you are talking about,” she admitted. “It’s stupid, I know, but I can barely sleep – I miss him from beside me. And whenever something funny happens, I turn to him to see smile, but then he’s not there, and my heart drops.”

Bobbi gave her a sympathetic look.

“Try to keep yourself busy, it helps – to some extent.” The she leaned closer to her in a somewhat conspiratory manner. “But for your consolation: reunion sex is awesome.”

This actually had Skye chuckle, just as the screen of the tablet came alive.

“Oops,” Bobbi said, patting Skye’s shoulder, “I’m out of beer, and you have a call to take – I guess it’s my cue to leave.” And with that, she stood up and walked back to the kitchen. Skye watched her leave with a grateful smile on her face, then turned to her tablet, and with slightly trembling hands, she took the call.

“Hi there, handsome! I miss you, babe…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to all the amazing peeps who apparently love that I had Skye call Grant a “big dork” once, and who are all up to discussing what kind of pet names these two adorable idiots would use for each other. Love ya, gals!


	70. Starlight

_Oh my, what a marvelous tune_   
_It was the best night, never would forget how he moved_   
_The whole place was dressed to the nines,_   
_And we were dancing, dancing_   
_Like we're made of starlight, starlight_

It was an easy mission, or so Skye had been told – and really, at first it seemed like one, too.

Simple surveillance, to see if mark one made contact with mark two. Listen and intercept if needed. Coulson presented the marks, she ran background checks – everything seemed as it was supposed to be. Coulson said that according to their intel, the marks were supposed to meet at some elite yacht club party, so she snatched two invites, which was about as tricky as she expected – in other words, not that that tricky at all. Then it was decided that she should go with Ward – as a couple like them would draw the least attention, Coulson said. She nodded along – it was true, after all. So, with everything set, the briefing ended pretty quickly, and they went on their separate ways to get ready for the mission the next evening.

In retrospect, the first clue that something fishy was going on should have been when Jemma all but insisted that she bought a new dress for the mission. Well, at least she tried to be tactful about it – browsing through all her dresses thoughtfully, then declaring that none of them was classy enough for the party Ward and her were supposed to infiltrate. But back then she simply agreed with her friend – and after all, who was she to decline a little shopping spree on S.H.I.E.L.D. budget?

The second clue should have been when everybody seemed to be a little bit on edge when she and Ward left for the party – and it wasn’t exactly their usual pre-mission anxiety. It was something else, something more… excited? Bubbly? She couldn’t exactly place it.

The third clue, one that she actually registered, was that when they arrived at the party, Grant seemed to lack his usual mission-induced tenseness. Yeah, he made a show of keeping an eye on their targets – emphasis on the show. He kept contact with the Bus. He reminded her to stay focused.

At least in the beginning he did.

But as time went by he started to slip – or, more like, he seemed to start to forget that they were on a mission, and it was like he wanted her to forget it too. He insisted they sat down and ate something. He ordered them champagne and toasted with her. He asked her to dance. And all the while he kept holding her hand, stealing little kisses, smiling at her, and generally looking at her like she was his moon and stars.

So in overall, within an hour the whole thing was starting to feel more like a fancy date than a mission.

And she was having a hell of a time.

But when mark one left right as they were swaying in the middle of the dance floor to some slow, classic song from the forties, and she wanted to follow him, but Grant held her back and said not to worry about it, and then the next moment their comms went down… Suddenly everything clicked.

How everything seemed to click about the mission a little bit too seamlessly.

How Jemma insisted she properly dolled up for the mission.

How everybody looked at her almost expectantly as they left the Bus.

How uninterested Grant was in the mission, and how he only seemed to have eyes for her…

With her arms around his neck, she looked up at him from under her lashes, smiling mischievously.

“There’s no mission,” she said, to which he answered with a little half-smile.

“No, there isn’t.”

“You planned this whole thing.”

“I did.”

“And the others helped.”

“Guilty.”

“Do I want to know why?”

Instead of answering her verbally, he just kissed her, then peeling her arms from his neck, he grabbed her hand and led her away from the dance floor, away from the party, to a small, peaceful patio by the water, illuminated by the moonlight. There, he kissed her again before saying anything.

(Her heart was beating so wildly she was afraid it would jump right out of her chest, and she was unable to wipe the goofy grin off her face.)

“Skye, you know me, I’m not good with words,” she started, holding her hands, looking into her eyes. “I’m a man of action. And this is why I organized this – I wanted to give you something unique, something amazing, to show you how much you mean to me. And now I…” He cracked a nervous smile, breaking eye contact for a moment. “I’m going to do something very clichéd and very ridiculous, but please, don’t laugh.”

Then he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and, at the same time, went down to one knee. She really tried no to laugh, but some happy sound still escaped her lips as one hand – one that wasn’t held be him – flew to her mouth, while a tear slid down her face.

“Skye, I love you. I might have loved you from the moment we met, I was just too much of an idiot to see it. And I might still be an idiot, and it might not be the most eloquent speech I could give you, but I can’t imagine a world where you are not by my side and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Then the next moment, not even registering the ring in his hand, she was on her knees, throwing herself into his arms, chanting “Yes, yes, yes, you dork!”, and they were somehow crying and laughing and kissing at the same time, sitting on the ground, and at some point, she wasn’t sure when, the ring was slipped on her finger.

They were still basking in their light when the comms went live and Fitz’s voice filled their ears.

“What’s your status, guys? The suspense is killing us here!”

This prompted another round of laughter from them before Skye breathed out:

“You can all calm down – I said yes.”

Their team’s cheering was the last thing she heard before she threw her comm into the water.


	71. The Lucky One

_It was a few years later, I showed up here._   
_And they still tell the legend of how you disappeared,_   
_How you took the money and your dignity, and got the hell out._

She is still in the med pod after Italy when they get word of it: John Garrett, Ward’s old S.O. is dead. Apparently, something went south in his last mission – they say there will be some investigation, but nobody thinks they will find anything.

***

The day Simmons lets her leave the med pod is the day Grant Ward gives in his resignation.

Right before he leaves, he goes to see her in her bunk. He tells her that he’s spoken with May and that she’ll take over her training. That she’s better take care of herself and stay safe. Not to play the hero. And that one day she’ll understand and then she’ll know where to find him.

Before he leaves, he kisses her forehead.

She doesn’t understand why he is doing this, but she respects his decision.

***

Two weeks later HYDRA emerges from the shadows.

***

The coming months are hard. First they are on the run, and then they are the ones fighting from the shadows. For the longest time she barely has time to think about Grant Ward, let alone look into his life.

But then, by accident, she stumbles into something. From then on, there’s no stopping.

***

It’s almost three years after his resignation when she sees him again. He was right, of course – she knew where to find him: in a small Florida town, as far as from the spy business as he can get.

He answers the door at the first knock – she briefly wonder if he knew she was coming.

“I found everything,” she says in lieu of greeting. “You had Garrett killed.”

Maybe it’s the pleasantness of seeing her again; maybe it’s the complete lack of accusation in her tone; nonetheless, he steps aside and lets her in. She walks into the house, but stops in the middle of the living room, turns towards him, and starts talking standing there.

“He wasn’t just your S.O., he was more like your slaveholder.” His only response is a small nod as he walks to the fridge and takes out two bottles of beer. “But then you had enough, you snapped, and you had him killed so you’d be free.”

“He had to die because he posed a threat to you,” he says as he opens the beers, without looking into her eyes. “If not for Italy… I might have played along with his plans.” He holds one bottle out to her, and she takes it.

“And then you left.”

“I had to. I knew HYDRA was coming, and I could have done nothing to stop them. If I had stayed, I would have either had to join them, act like I shared their ideology, or stay with you guys, but then–“

“Then, sooner or later, your connections to them would have been found, and you would have been branded as a traitor,” she finishes, sitting down on his faded couch.

“And you would have hated me,” he adds, taking seat opposite of her. “This way… This way at least you had a good memory of me.”

She nods absentmindedly, taking a sip from her drink, avoiding his eyes. When she does look at him, he looks like he has a million questions to ask, but is too afraid to voice them.

“Are you happy here?” she says instead; he gives her a sad little smile.

“I’m okay.” _I’d be happier with you guys_ , his eyes seem to say.

Silence reigns over them for a while after that – it strangely reminds her of the old days, back on the Bus, when he’d read a book on the couch and she’d play on her tablet lying next to him, sneaking her feet into his lap, hoping for an absentminded foot rub.

“Grant?” She says finally. She doesn’t continue until their eyes lock. “I understand.”


	72. Girl at Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (On the margin of tonight’s upcoming episode.)

He is desperate and Kara is willing – and this is enough for them to slip into a parody of a relationship.

He just wants to forget – what, exactly, he is not sure –, to oppress, to get rid of the pain, and the easiest way to do it seems to be to act like he was in love with Kara (even though he is not).

But slipping on a mask, pretending to be somebody he is not is easy, so easy (he has a lifetime of practice). To smile at her and call her baby, kiss her and touch her – it’s all just an act, a master at play, so good at his craft that he himself almost believes it.

But still – Kara might be on his mind, but it’s Skye in his heart. It’s she whom he dreams about, whose name is on his lips, whose rhythm his heart beats to, who stars in his dreams. And when he is with Kara, with her – the other woman, the replacement – in his arms, he can’t help but wish that it was Skye instead.

So no matter what his mind would like to lie to his heart. No matter what the world might see. No matter what Kara lets herself believe – because at the end of the day his heart still longs for Skye, and no-one else.

…And then he has to wonder: who is being played here by who?


	73. The Last Time

_I find myself at your door,_   
_Just like all those times before,_   
_I'm not sure how I got there,_   
_All roads—they lead me here._

There is an old saying that “every road leads to Rome” – well, if it’s true, then Skye is his Rome, because despite his convictions, his plans, his attempts to forget her, here he is, once again, at the Playground, but this time as a free man (as free as he can ever be), and his legs somehow find their way to her without him realizing it.

He finds her on the roof – it’s kind of ironic; the last time they spoke at this base, they were at the basement. Back then she tricked him into speaking and then sold him out. This time she hopes for honesty.

She is standing near the edge, with her back to him, her arms crossed, looking out at the city around them. She doesn’t move as he approaches her, standing beside her, but far enough so she won’t feel threatened or smothered (she used to smother him once, being always just half a step behind him; he misses those times).

“Coulson told me about your…” Her what? Status? Predicament? Curse? “…powers, and how you got them,” he says, without even looking at her. He swallows before continuing. “And I just wanted to say I’m sorry. If I had known it would happen, I wouldn’t have taken you there. I never wished it for you.”

For the longest time she just stands there, unmoving, silent, her eyes fixed at the horizon. After three minutes or so he gives up and turns to leave.

“Ward?” he hears her voice after three steps, making him turn around. “I’m sorry, too,” she says, never facing him. “Sorry for shooting you. I’m not saying you didn’t deserve it, but… It was out of the line.”

He just nods and takes a tentative step towards her, not sure what to say.

This is when she turns around.

“But don’t think that now everything is forgiven. It is not. I’m still pissed at you and I don’t trust you.” She says, their gazes locking, she never breaking eye contact. “I don’t even know you.”

It’s fair, he thinks.

“You could. Know me, I mean.”

Skye gives him the slightest of nods.

“I’ll think about that.” And with that, she turns back towards the landscape.

But he just can’t hold it back.

“Skye?” he calls for her. The slight tensing of her shoulders tells him that she’s heard him. “If it’s not forgiveness – then what’s it?”

She turns only that much that he can see her profile instead of the back of her head.

“A fresh start.”


	74. I'd Lie

_He’ll never fall in love he swears_   
_As he runs his fingers through his hair_   
_I’m laughing 'cause I hope he's wrong_

There’s a point where the little crush she has on her S.O. starts to become embarrassing. She is not exactly sure which point this is exactly, but if she had to guess, she’d go with that one time when she just blurts out while they are in the control room, without any kind of preamble: “So, have you ever been in love?”

The change in Ward’s body language is instant – his shoulders go rigid, his jaw tenses. The next moment he straightens up from his position being bent over the control table, half-turns his back to her, and runs his hand through his hair.

“No,” he says after hesitating just a moment too long. “And don’t even plan to. It’s unconventional.”

“Unconventional,” Skye scoffs. “Yeah, because it’s such a good excuse.”

His eyes narrow; not in the angry way – more like as if it was hard for him to continue.

“Being a specialist… it’s demanding. I’m not always in charge of where I am or where I am going. I might die any day. It wouldn’t be fair to ask somebody else to live with this burden.”

“And if she wanted to?” It’s out before she could order her mouth to stay shut. But if she already started… “What if she understood and still wanted it? Because, you know, love conquers all and stuff.”

He actually looks into her eyes a moment too long before letting out a forced chuckle.

“Sometimes I love how your mind works – all your romantic and idealist ideas of the world.” He rubs his jaw, his gaze fluttering away from hers. “But _I_ live this life. _I_ know what it means. And _I_ know it’s the best I don’t get tangled in any kind of… silliness.”

At that moment she’s so angry so feels like she could combust. Rationally, she doesn’t really know why – she asked a question, he gave an answer. They weren’t talking about specifics, only about a theoretical situation. But still…

She jumps from her seat, having a hard time containing her temper.

“Well, then okay,” she says, her words just a bit louder than they should be. “Do whatever you want. Walk by any and every chance of happiness if that suits you.” And with that, she storms out of the control room.

(Maybe it’s for the best she doesn’t see the longing gaze he gives her retreating form.)


	75. A Place in This World

_I'm alone, on my own, and that's all I know_   
_I'll be strong, I'll be wrong, oh but life goes on_   
_Oh, I'm just a girl, trying to find a place in this world_

From as long as Skye can remember, she has been alone. Apart from never belonging to anywhere, there was nothing constant in her life.

And that is why she was so desperate to find her family.

And as ironic as life is, she found them – and herself –, only not in the way she thought she would.

She started as a girl of nothing – no name, no roof above her head, no skills, no value, only a desperate goal. But she built herself up – she became somebody, she learned, she changed, she grew. She became stronger and smarter and more and more compassionate – but still alone and nowhere to belong.

But at least she was _somebody_ now.

And she was not going to give up her search.

Funny thing is, she finally found what she was looking for at the last place she would have expected it: at S.H.I.E.L.D.

Once she thought of them as the bad guys, as necessary evil; she knows better now – it’s her family now. Her strict, sometimes overbearing parents; bubbly, loving siblings; and a partner for life. Peoplewho loved her, and whom she loves and would have trusted her life with them.

Maybe it isn’t exactly how is envisioned it in early days, but it is still all she’s ever wanted – and she wouldn’t have it any other way.


	76. New Romantics

_We show off our different scarlet letters_   
_Trust me, mine is better_

Lance is just starting to get bored with his life when he meets her. Thank heavens she is that interesting.

That first night, when the mission is over, when all the cards are on the table, they dance. Bodies pressed together in the flashing lights of the club, in wild abandon, in the most obscene way.

She kisses him for the first time there, hot, open-mouthed.

Somehow they end up in some hotel room. He doesn’t know how. He doesn’t care.

It’s one of the best nights of his life – wild, rough, demanding, merciless.

When it’s over, they are calm, satisfied. They lie in the tangled sheets, facing each other, looking into each other’s eyes. It’s the first time they talk – the first time they have a real conversation.

They start with scars – tracing over old ones with their fingertips, recalling how they got them. It’s borderline against protocol, what they tell the other. They speak about missions, about secrets, about lies, about kills. Opening Pandora’s Box, showing the other the darkest corners of their soles.

Bobbi never looks at him in a different way.

His opinion of her doesn’t change a bit.

They fall asleep next to each other – something he hasn’t done in a while.

The next morning, she’s still there.

Lance reckons he falls in love in that exact moment.


	77. White Horse

_I'm not a princess, this ain't a fairy tale,_   
_I'm not the one you'll sweep off her feet,_   
_Lead her up the stairwell_

Grant Ward was never one for fairytales – not even as a child, definitely not later in life. Fairytales were for people who still had dreams and desires, the will to believe, and has not lost their sense of wonder.

He had neither – for him, the world was more like a Russian realist piece than a Disney tale.

Then he met Skye.

Maybe not from the very beginning, but starting quite early in their relationship, he somehow ended up envisioning her as a princess in a fairytale – the kind that eventually stands up for herself and helps the prince slay the dragon, but a princess nonetheless. A fair maiden whose beauty and kindness is legendary in all the kingdom.

And him? He was her knight – maybe not in shining armor, but in battle-battered one, but still earning her affections and the right to stand by her through heroic deeds.

…It took him some time that even if there was a knight in her story, it wasn’t him. If anything, he was the dragon, who burned the land, terrorized the people, kidnapped the princess and killed everybody who tried to save her.

And he hated himself for it.

But, fortunately, his story didn’t end here – because Skye was the kind of princess who had compassion even for monsters.

Even after everything he’d done, she let him come back. She listened – wary, cautious, but she did. She called out his mistakes. Recalled the pain he caused. She cried and shouted. But in the end, she offered forgiveness.

And taught him that even dragons can be loved.


	78. We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

_I remember when we broke up the first time_   
_Saying, "This is it, I've had enough," 'cause like_   
_We hadn't seen each other in a month_   
_When you said you needed space. (What?)_   
_Then you come around again and say_   
_"Baby, I miss you and I swear I'm gonna change, trust me."_   
_Remember how that lasted for a day?_   
_I say, "I hate you," we break up, you call me, "I love you."_

Lance will be the first to admit that some fights now and then will spice up the relationship – make up sex is always great, after all –, and that a couple of secrets lend it an air of mystery.

But when the fights become an everyday occurrence, and the secrets turn out to be not so innocent and really nasty (like not the kind “I once kissed my second cousin on a dare”, but more of a “when I told you I was visiting my grandma, I was actually on a super-secret mission in Russia” variety), even he’ll say that the relationship has turned toxic, and it’s for the best if they call it quits. Or at least take a break.

And they – he and Bobbi – know this. They act according to this.

Most of the time.

They are really not responsible for the fact that their “ultimate break-ups” always turn to be “temporary breaks” – it’s fate, really. That’s what always brings them together time and time again. Not complete stupidity and their utter inability to learn from their mistakes. Not at all.

Although this does feel like the ultimate end.

Bobbi still has an enemy agent’s blood on her shirt – or is it her blood? – ,too mad to even think about changing, while he has smashed her favorite vase against the wall in his anger. She, again, went on a mission without telling him, and is going to leave for the next one in the morning – and she can’t tell him where she’s going, or what she is to do. So, yeah, he is mad.

And she makes it sound like it is all his fault.

So he gives up – throws his hands in the air and gives up. Packs up a duffel and tells her that it’s over. And that he means it. She doesn’t even try to stop him.

And as he walks out of the door he really is convinced that it is the end, the last straw, the point of no return – that this is where their story ends.

(The next time fate brings them together, they get married on an impulse. It might just be his best stupid idea up to date.)


	79. Crazier

_You showed me something that I couldn't see_   
_You opened my eyes_   
_And you made me believe_

Not even two hours after parting with Ward in the bar, there’s a knock at her hotel room door. When she opens it – already in PJs, make up-less, hair in a careless bun –, she finds him on the other side. He seems restless, fidgety, unable to keep still. His hair messy, sticking into a hundred different directions as if he ran his fingers through it too many times, and there is some livid, almost hunted light in his eyes.

It scares her.

“Grant?” his given name slips from between her lips with ease. “Is everything alright?”

He looks into her eyes, then his gaze flutters away, while he buries his fingers in his hair.

“I don’t want to do it anymore,” he says at last a second or two later, which only scares her further. The next moment he takes a step towards her, leaning down as if he wanted to kiss her, and for a heartbeat she actually expects him to kiss her, but then, just before the point of no return, he seemingly changes his mind, straightens his spine and lets his momentum carry him further, past her, into her room. “I can’t do this anymore,” he corrects himself, turning towards her.

“What?” she asks, awkwardly crossing her arms in front of her, genuinely concerned about him now. For a brief moment, she wonders if he’s drunk, but she’s seen enough drunk man to recognize one if she sees one – Grant might have had a drink or two, but he is way to coordinated and coherent to be drunk. But still, he is clearly in distress.

“Pretending – pretending that I don’t feel things that are slowly consuming me. Pretending that I can stay unattached, that…” His words fail him, and he casts his gaze down, trying to get a grip on himself. “I have been thinking about what you said down in the bar, and…” He takes a deep breath. “This ­– this is not me,” he continues, gesturing to himself. “But I thought I could be this man, this cold, professional, who doesn’t need anybody, but then you came into my life, and I-“ He moves his hand as if he wants to grab hers, but then lets it drop, as if he is too afraid to.

So she makes the decision for him.

“Yes?” she prompts, stepping closer and lacing their fingers together.

He inhales, his shoulders rising, then exhales, before answering while looking into her eyes.

“I want to belong,” he says finally, his voice barely above whisper. “I want to be free… To be who I really am.”

Skye gives him a tiny nod.

“And who is that man?”

“I… I’m not sure. I guess I still need to figure that out.” For the first time since he knocked on her door, he smiles. “But he… he likes to hold hands, I guess,” he squeezes her fingers. “And likes to make you smile. And I guess he would like to be funny? And he likes to hang out with his friends. And… you are very important to him.”

She rewards him with a brilliant smile, butterflies fluttering in her chest.

“You know what? I’d really like to meet this person. I think we’d get on well great.”

“That would be… great,” he smiles back, then, as if he has just realized what he is doing, he pulls his hand from her grip. “It’s late – I should let you sleep. Thank you for lending me a shoulder.” With that, he starts for the door, but stops halfway and turns back towards her.

“Yes?” she asks.

“It’s just… It’s stupid, really, but… May I kiss you?”

She almost laughs out loud – Agent Grant Ward, the super spy, the guy who can kill you fifteen different ways with his bare hands, is asking for permission to kiss her.

“I don’t see any reason why not,” she answers, as nonchalantly as she can manage.

The corner of his mouth twitches, then he steps to her, looks down at her with wonder in his eyes, lifts his right hand to her cheek, his fingertips caressing the soft skin – it’s almost as if she lived it in slow motion –, then, ever so gently, he brushed his lips against hers in the most tentative kiss she might have ever received.

It ends all too soon.

“Thank you,” he breaths as he pulls away. “Sweet dreams, Skye,” he whishes, then leaves the room before she could say a word.

Then, standing in the middle of her hotel room, she raises her hand, touches her still tingling lips, and then, despite herself, lets out a tiny giggle.

She can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings.

_Baby you showed me what living is for_   
_I don't wanna hide anymore_


	80. Change

_Tonight we stand, get off our knees_   
_Fight for what we’ve worked for all these years_   
_And the battle was long, it’s the fight of our lives_   
_But we’ll stand up champions tonight_

It takes Skye a while to realize that the battle is over.

Even longer to realize that they have won.

Standing in the middle of a destroyed street, sweaty and dirty and bloodied, surrounded by debris and the bodies of the enemies (she hopes so; she doesn’t dare to look), the adrenalin in her bloodstream fading, she suddenly feels exhausted, ready to collapse. For a fraction of a moment, every one of her senses seems to switch off.

No sight.

No sounds.

No smells.

Then it all comes back with vengeance. And suddenly, she’s aware of everything.

The battle is over; she is alone; she has no idea where the others are; she has no idea where he is. She has to find them – find _him_.

She starts limping towards the rendezvous point – she has a gash on her leg, the pain just making itself known –, her mind running a hundred miles an hour. When was the last time she saw him? What was he doing? Was he injured, was he okay?

She doesn’t know, and it drives her insane.

What if he’s died? What if it’s the end of them?

No

Halfway to the rendezvous point some low-level S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in full tac gear finds her – without asking her, he drapes her arm over his shoulder while encircles her waist with his free arm. She doesn’t say a word, but she is grateful – it’s so much faster this way.

Her heart is beating harder and harder the closer the get, the staccato of _whatifwhatifwhatif_ drumming in her head.

They are a block away when she sees him – or they see each other; she is not sure.

He is on what’s remained of the pavement, talking to some soldier, looking frantic – maybe he’s looking for her?

She wants to call out for him, but then he turns his head and sees her.

The next moment he’s running towards her.

The next she’s in his arms, sinking to the ground, forehead touching, lips touch, laughing and crying, because they are alive. They are in the middle of destruction and the world will never be the same, but the war is over and they have won. And they have each other, alive, whole, in love.

For now, it’s enough.


	81. Cold As You

_Oh what a shame, what a rainy ending given to a perfect day_   
_Just walk away, no use defending words that you will never say_   
_And now that I'm sitting here thinking it through_   
_I've never been anywhere cold as you_

Once upon a time Fitz believed that they were made for each other. He loved her, first as a friend, then fell in love with her, and he knew, he just knew, that one day she would love him back. Because that was the way it should have been (otherwise, what’s the point of two people like them meeting?).

Of course it didn’t turn out that way.

First, when he told her he loved her, she turned him down without actually turning him down.

Then, when he woke up, she left him for months.

Then she kept her distance, and she just wasn’t the same (none of them were. But Jemma was… different).

And now – this. Killing Ward.

It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a vague idea she didn’t go through with in the end. She actually tried it, and ended up killing another person in cold blood, seemingly without remorse.

When she confesses it to him, he is so taken aback he can’t find his words for minutes.

“How could you?” he asks finally.

Her eyes narrow in anger.

“He deserves to die. Don’t tell you think otherwise.”

Her last words have him jump from his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Ward might… deserves things. But killing him?” He looks into her eyes at last. “I thought you were a better person than that.”

Then he turns his back on her and walks out of the room.

Once upon a time he was in love with her and thought that they were destined to be together. But now? He can’t even recognize her anymore, and just keeps asking himself: when did this cold, loveless woman replace his warm, kindhearted Jemma?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addressing the recent developments of the show in Simmons’ case: just like Ward, I’m deeply disappointed in Jemma as a person, but I am greatly intrigued by Jemma as a character.


	82. Ours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ties into #25 State of Grace and #29 Mine.

_Seems like there's always someone who disapproves_   
_They'll judge it like they know about me and you_   
_And the verdict comes from those with nothing else to do_   
_The jury's out, but my choice is you_

It’s not like he doesn’t hear the whispers: _traitor; HYDRA lapdog; Garrett’s bitch; should have went down with the Triskelion._ He hears them, and they hurt a bit, he just decides not to care about them – after all, they are right; they just seem to forget that he chose S.H.I.E.L.D. well before HYDRA struck. Still, these whispers he doesn’t mind, not really.

It’s the other kind of whispers he can barely stand.

_How can she stand him? Lie with that traitorous bastard? Doesn’t she want to throw up whenever she kisses him? Why is she with him in the first place? Maybe he is blackmailing her. Keeping her afraid to leave him. Abuses her. Those kinds of things must not be above him – he used to work for HYDRA, after all. She could do much better…_

These are the kind of whispers that hurt, really hurt. Mostly because he believes them some days, even after all this time. Sometimes they almost make him run and hide, or just simply go up to Skye and tell her that it’s over. That she’ll be better off without him. And really, leaving him would only do her good.

But every time he would come to this decision, the night comes, they retire to their room, she is in his arms, and suddenly those whispers – they mean nothing.

Because she presses her body against his, her arms around his torso, her face nuzzled against his neck, so he can inhale the soft-sweet scent of her hair and feel her content sigh against his skin. Because she stands on her tip toes to kiss him and she smiles against his lips. Because she takes his hand and leads him to their bed. Because she pulls him down next to her and lays her head on his chest, so she can listen to his heartbeat. Because she whispers _I love you_.

Because she loves _him_.

And she knows him, knows who he really is, she believes in him, and she chooses him.

And he might be selfish, but still, he chooses her, too. He loves her, too.

And this is the most important, most precious thing in the world.


	83. Stay, Stay, Stay

_Stay, stay, stay._   
_I've been lovin' you for quite some time, time, time._   
_You think that it's funny when I'm mad, mad, mad._   
_But I think that it's best if we both stay, stay, stay, stay._

She is so mad, she could bring the whole building down – and the way things are going, she might as well will.

Because that bastard has the audacity the laugh at her, like genuinely laugh, when she is so mad at him. Damn him.

“You could have died!” she almost shouts, half-looking for something (that is more solid than a cushion) to throw at him. “It was a stupid, stupid move, and you barely got out of it in one piece!” While she speaks, the room starts quaking gently, and yet, he just keeps grinning. “What?”

He takes a step closer to her – a brave, but stupid move.

“Sorry, it’s just you are so cute when you are angry.”

This time she doesn’t even look for things to throw, she simply grabs the closest object – her phone –, and hurls it at him. It’s only thanks to his quick reflexes that she doesn’t have to buy a new one.

“Skye…” he puts the phone down and steps up to her. “Baby…” When he’s close enough, she hits his chest – more of a gesture than real intent to hurt him –, but then stills as he embraces her, burying his fingers in her hair and placing his chin on the top of her head. The room stops trembling at once. “I’m here.”

“You almost didn’t make it home.”

“…Unscathed,” he continues, as if he didn’t hear her speak.

“That’s a stretch,” she mumbles into his chest, eliciting a soft chuckle from him.

“I love you,” he says, pressing a kiss against her hair. “And it would take a lot more than a squad of HYDRA agents to keep me away from you.”

“I love you, too,” she says, snuggling closer to him. “But this doesn’t mean that I am not still mad at you.” She pushes herself away from him so she can look into his eyes. “Promise me that you won’t do anything stupid like this ever again!”

He gives her a little, uncertain grimace as answer.

“You know I can’t do that,” he says finally, leaning down to give her a peck on the lips, but she pulls away. He sighs. “What about if I promise you that’ll do everything I can to come back to you every time?”

“I thought it was given.”

“It is,” he tried again with the kiss, but gets denied again. “But still, I want to promise you that.”

She thoughts about it for a moment, then closes her eyes for a moment.

“Okay,” she says at last. “I’ll take it.” This time she is the one who goes for his lips, then tucks her head under his chin. “But just to make things crystal clear,” she mumbles against his chest. “If you die during a mission, I’ll find a way to bring you back, and then kill you myself.”


	84. If This Was a Movie

_Come back, come back, come back to me like_   
_You could, you could if you just said you're sorry_   
_I know that we could work it out somehow_   
_But if this was a movie you'd be here by now_

The last time I saw him was six months and an almost-Apocalypse ago.

The last thing I told him was that, as a “thanks”, I won’t try to kill him again.

When he wasn’t in the quinjet, I told myself I was relieved.

I told myself that it was a good riddance. He didn’t belong here, not anymore. We were better off without him.

Maybe it was the biggest, fattest lie I have ever told.

Because damn it, and damn him, I miss him. I actually miss him, I want him to be here, with us, with me, just like we used to, grumbling and bickering and playing and flirting. I want to train with him in the mornings and play board games in the evenings. I want him at my six during missions. Hell, I even want him to chastise me about how I handle my gun.

I want to have a drink with him.

I want to tell him I understand.

So, Ward, I…

If by any chance, you have managed to get psychic powers in the last six months, and if you happen to be scanning my mind right now, I just want to you to know that I miss you and I forgive you. Please, come home.


	85. Tell Me Why

_I'm sick and tired of your attitude_   
_I'm feeling like I don't know you_   
_You tell me that you love me then you cut me down_

This was so not what Lance signed up for.

Sure, when he first got together with Bobbi, souls bared, secrets revealed – hah, good joke – and all, he didn’t expect a fairytale ending with a clichéd “they lived happily ever after”, but he would have been okay with a “they lived well into retirement age, constantly bickering, but still having a disgusting and let’s-not-talk-about-it-in-public sex life.” Of course he didn’t get that.

Because Bobbi, his angel turned demonic hellbeast is a spy, and there’s a thing about spies: they always have just one more secret, even when you think you have peeled away their last layer of secrets.

And there’s a thing about Bobbi: secrets make her twitchy. Oh, not on the job – she would have been dead a long time ago if she was that green. No, it made her twitchy at home, with him.

It was a double-edged sword, or more like when two people play Uno, and one places a draw four card, already smug, and then the other answers with another draw four. Which sucks, big time. But, okay, so the thing about Bobbi and their relationship is that whenever she got a new secret, he suffered double. Because keeping secrets from him made her grumpy and short tempered, which led to fights – where, usually, he lost (losing meant, of course, that he gave up, marched out of their apartment, relocated himself in the nearest pub, where he got drunk enough not to feel bad about badmouthing his wife, maybe got into a fight or two, then had to be dragged home by Mack).

But it worked in the reverse, too – when she became short-tempered seemingly without no reason, he didn’t blame it on her period, but on her newest secret, which he usually had to peel out of her – with more or less, rather less, luck –, which led to an argument, which led to him visiting the nearest pub, which led to… you know the drill.

It was so not a “happily ever after”; it was bloody unhealthy, both to his mind and his liver.

And yet he always found himself crawling back to her in the end, always forgiving her latest deception. Because he was a goddamned addict – addicted to her.


	86. The Moment I Knew

_You should've been there,_   
_Should've burst through the door,_   
_With that 'baby I'm right here' smile,_   
_And it would've felt like,_   
_A million little shining stars had just aligned,_   
_And I would've been so happy._

Coulson has done everything to steal some Christmas cheer into the bleak cement walls of the Playground, Skye has to give him that; it’s not his fault that she really can’t get into the holiday mood.

It’s just… something is missing. Or rather, someone. And without him, everything is bland, and it just doesn’t worth it – the whole dressing up, looking pretty and faking having a good time shebang.

If only he was there…

She can almost imagine it – how this all would be if he didn’t betrayed them all; if he was still there.

He’d wear a suit, because the occasion calls for, but she’d manage to talk him out of putting on a tie. He’d drink eggnog, because it’s there and it’s tradition, and because she’d push the cup into his hand, and he’d claim that it’s nothing, he won’t even feel it, but after a while his words would come a bit easier and smile a bit quicker.

They would stand in a circle, or sit at the same table, with Fitz and Simmons and Hunter and maybe Mack and Bobbi, and they would be swapping stories about Malta and London and Peru and Budapest, laughing and teasing, and maybe he’d put his arm around her waist, pulling her close.

She would have dressed up for him. Put on a red dress, red being a holiday color and all, with a teasingly short skirt and plunging neckline, teasing him, making it hard for him not to stare at her cleavage. She’d have heels and red lipstick on and would wear her hair in loose curls, because she knows he likes it.

Maybe she would be the one to spot the mistletoe first, dragging him under it and demanding a kiss. Maybe he’d be reluctant to do it – “Skye, we have audience” –, maybe she wouldn’t even have to really prompt him – maybe he would just lean down and press his lips against hers, people watching to be damned. Maybe he would find it first, and would lead her under it sneakily, without her suspecting a thing, and then he would steal a kiss, his hands on her cheeks, his whole body working on that kiss.

Afterwards, maybe they would sneak out for a little privacy, and they would watch the snowflakes fall, with his jacket laid on her shoulder. Maybe he would escort her back to her room. Maybe she would invite him in.

Maybe it would be perfect.

Maybe she would be happy.

But he is not here – he is out somewhere in the world alone because he thinks that they – his team – cannot forgive him. Because he thinks she doesn’t love him.

 _If only he knew_ , she thinks, shedding a tear under the Christmas lights.


	87. Dear john

_Dear John, I see it all now that you're gone._   
_Don't you think I was too young_   
_To be messed with?_

To be completely honest, Ward is angrier at Miles – God, even his name irritates him – than at Skye.

Coulson told him the story – at least the part his commanding officer felt like Skye wouldn’t mind Grant knowing –, and, according to him, although Skye did have a hidden agenda when she had come to S.H.I.E.L.D., it was an honest one – a personal one –, and she still took becoming an agent seriously. He, too, have messed things up in the past – made the wrong calls, did the bad thing for the good reason –, so he could see where Skye came from.

Make no mistake – he is still mad at her; it’s just this is the kind of anger he knows will diminish after couple of days of silent treatment, especially if he’ll see her putting herself there in training.

But the thing he feels for Miles… That’s something else entirely.

That bastard broke Skye’s heart, for some money. Skye put her blind faith in him and he betrayed her, doing something her whole being stood against. He whored information (her words, not his), and when he was found out, he dared to act like he was the knight in shining armor in front of her, being wrongfully accused of unspeakable things.

Grant’s palm was itching for a nice right hook even then.

He just didn’t understand – how could somebody treat such a pure, young, warmhearted person like Skye this way? And to make matters worse, ever since their parting, he has been catching little snippets of conversations between FitzSimmons and Skye (no, he wasn’t eavesdropping, he just happened to walk by), discussing Miles and his little flaws.

Being flirty, and not just with her. Putting her down when she made a mistake. Never really believing she could be as good as he was. Making her feel small and unimportant. Taking her granted.

Every little new information made him hate Miles Lyndon a little more, and, at the same time, made him a little gladder that Coulson left him in Hong Kong – because the urge in him to use Lyndon as his personal punching bag was just growing and growing.

No-one messes with his Skye. No-one.


	88. The Story of Us

_This is looking like a contest,_   
_Of who can act like they care less,_   
_But I liked it better when you were on my side._   
_The battle's in your hands now,_   
_But I would lay my armor down_   
_If you said you'd rather love than fight._

This is battle now, one that they are both losing, with the only victor being their stubborn pride.

Ever since Ward’s been back with S.H.I.E.L.D., they have been acting like strangers – a distrustful look here, a sarcastic side comment there, but that’s all. It’s awkward as hell, them barely looking at each other, going out of their way to avoid the other, the forced statements that they don’t care what the other is doing. Briefings are the worst, when they deliberately sit opposite ends of the room, playing all nonchalant, but sneaking little glances at each other, when the other is not looking.

And what is terrible about this whole situation is that they are fooling nobody.

Lance might not be the most sensitive guy when it comes to human relationships, and he might not have known Ward and Skye before S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, thus has no idea how they used to act around each other back then, what dance they danced (but from what he has heard, there was some sexual tension even back then), but damn it, if they ask him, they should just drop the whole façade already and fuck it out.

Because damn it, even a blind man could see what’s going on here. They are still have the hots for each other – bad –, but their past, and mostly their thick-headedness is keeping them apart. Because neither of them could possibly suffer such humility as being the first to break and push the other against the nearest wall (although, honestly, that’s what they totally should be doing).

If only they would have a moment of clarity… A point in time when they realize that this whole pretending business doesn’t do anybody any good, just rising the tension within the team, a point when they would lay down their cards and be honest about their feelings and stop acting this bloody indifferent, well, now they would do a big damn service to everybody on the base.

If it happened, Lance wouldn’t even complain (much) if they shook the whole base.

(But they better do it soon, otherwise he’ll lose the bet. And he has a hundred bucks on them jumping each other’s bones before the month’s end.)


	89. Breathless

_Lay down your guns_   
_Too weak to run_   
_Nothing can harm you here_   
_Your precious heart_   
_Broken and scarred_   
_Somehow you made it through_

These days the only thing that gets him through a tougher mission – where bullets fly and blood is shed – is the promise of what waits for him at home.

(Home, what a strange concept – is it a place, a feeling, a person?)

He knows that when he gets back to the base, Skye will be there, waiting for him at the entrance, concern in her eyes. She’ll insist, no matter what he says, that he gets himself checked out at the med bay, just to be sure. And then, when he’s cleared (“I told you it was a scratch, no need for stitches”), she’ll take his hand and lead him to their room.

That’s when their little ritual will really start.

In the sanctuary of their room, she will take his guns, his blades, put them away; he won’t need for a while. Then she’ll help him out of his dirty, sweat-soaked clothes – throw them into the hamper, or in the trash, depending on how damaged they are. After that, she’ll wash him, gently rubbing the grime, the ashes, the blood off his skin with a wet cloth. It’s not a sexual act, it’s cleansing – helping him clean not only his body, but his soul as well, ridding him of the horrors of the mission.

When it’s done, she’ll move to his injuries – dressing the cuts and minding the bruises, pressing a kiss to each of them, as if her lips had healing powers (maybe they have). Then she’ll have him lie down, and, putting some scented oils on her hands, she’ll start working on his muscles – she knows how tense they get –, massaging the tension, the anger, the worry out of his shoulders and biceps and back, until he is nothing but a weak, exhausted mess, completely relaxed in her hands.

She is his home, his anchor, his goddess, his everything; she is the only thing that keeps him away from the dark, filling the crevices of his soul with light just with her mere presence and her caring touch. Without her, he’d be lost, gone, damned.

When she is done, she’ll lay down beside him, settling on her stomach, her head turned towards him. And he’ll smile at her gratefully, because there are no words to express how much he values and loves her, and she’ll smile back at him – and that is the last thin he’ll see before he falls asleep.


	90. Jump Then Fall

_I had time to think it all over_   
_And all I can say is come closer_   
_Take a deep breath then jump then fall into me_

There is one thing that is completely pointless to argue about: it was a long time coming.

Only nobody foresaw that it would transpire this way.

It all happened on a quiet Thursday morning – well, at least before it happened, it was quiet –, when Fitz, not having yet consumed his obligatory morning coffee, was still fighting – and losing – to keep his eyes open for a longer period of time, and Ward was silently sitting at the counter, eating his breakfast. One moment Leo was still contemplating whether he should have another mug or not, the next he was witnessing how Skye marched to Ward with a determined look on her face and took seat opposite of the slightly wide-eyed specialist.

“We should go out,” she stated without any kind of preamble.

“Sorry?” Grant managed to utter once he swallowed.

“We should go out,” Skye repeated. “As in have a date. I’m asking you on a date.”

Ward blinked once. Twice. Thrice. (Fitz just stood there, frozen.)

“Skye, I–“

“Don’t even start” Skye cut him off mid-sentence. “I thought this over. Like, really thought this over. There is not one S.H.I.E.L.D. manual that explicitly states that agents, regardless of rank, can’t date. I like you. You like me. We have this über intense UST going on…”

“UST?” Fitz questioned, rising his hand a little, his eyes finally opening properly.

“Unresolved sexual tension,” Skye supplied turning towards him, then back to Ward, not losing her rhythm for a moment. “All I am saying is that we are just torturing ourselves with this stupid behavior, craving each other, going mad with longing, and catching a cold with all the cold showers we are forced to take – Fitz, please, wait with suffocating until I finish, okay? Thanks –, when we could actually do something sensible about it, like we could take a look how our fantasies would work in real life. It’ll either work out or not, but at least we’ll able to say that we gave it a try. So, what do you say? Can I take you on a date, Agent Ward?”

For the next ten seconds silent fell on the Bus, so complete that even a cricket could have been heard. Fitz was even half-sure that he actually heard one.

For the longest time none of them said a thing; it was just Skye and Ward holding each other gaze with such intensity it could have started a fire, while Fitz was watching them as if he was seeing the world’s most important chess game.

Then he cleared his throat.

“If I were you,” he said to Ward, “I’d say yes.”

Grant closed his eyes (Fitz could have sworn he say his lips move as if he was counting silently), then put down his utensils and looked at Skye with complete, utter calmness.

“No,” he said (Leo saw Skye’s nostrils flare). “But maybe I could take you out sometime?”

Skye stood up, and with her body, her voice rose as well.

“You are honestly making an issue out of this?”

Ward ignored her question.

“What do you say? Drinks? Dinner?”

Skye huffed a little, obviously a bit torn about the whole situation, then said, with the sternest voice she could muster, “Dinner and a movie, and you’re paying.”

“Okay,” Ward relented, looking all serious, but Fitz didn’t miss how the corner of his mouth turned upwards.

“Great,” Skye nodded, considering the topic closed, then sat down again, reaching for the cereal, almost as if nothing had happened in the last few minutes.

Fitz blinked. Then looked at Skye, then at Ward, then at his coffee, and blinked again. Then he put his mug down, deciding that he did not need any more caffeine. He had just had a way better morning kick than coffee – but then again, he might be still dreaming.


	91. Christmas Must Be Something More

_Would you still wanna kiss without mistletoe?_

FitzSimmons put a string of mistletoe above the lab doors – they said that it was their territory and refused to take it down, no matter how sternly Ward looked at them.

The truth is he didn’t even realize it was there until two days after it had been put up, and even then he needed some prompting to spot it.

Actually, the whole incident transpired the following way: he was going to the lab and Skye was coming out of the lab, and they met at the door. They could have easily passed each other without any problem, but then, just as he was crossing the threshold, she grabbed his shoulders to steady him, raised herself to the tip of her toes, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. It lasted no longer than a second, and the next, she was gone – just like that.

“What the hell was this?” Ward asked from no-one in particular.

“Mistletoe,” Fitz answered without even looking up from the gadget he was tinkering with, but in a voice that suggested he just answered the greatest mystery of the universe.

It happened right after this event that Ward asked, ordered, demanded and then almost begged the mistletoe to be removed, only to be denied. The mistletoe stayed.

Stayed to mock him.

Their – Ward and the mistletoe’s, although the latter might not have been aware of this relationship – affair had three stages.

First, Ward was mad at the mistletoe (and wanted it to be taken down) for the mere fact of it being there, right above their heads as they passed each other with Skye, giving the girl an excuse to kiss him (give him a peck on the cheek; it was so far from kissing), making his heart race and forcing him to re-evaluate their relationship. Forcing him to realize that he wanted to kiss Skye.

Then he was mad at himself for not having spotted the mistletoe early and not kissing Skye when they passed each other under it. It could have been so damn easy – grab her shoulders (waist?), look into her eyes for a moment, then lean in and kiss. So damn easy. Only he didn’t know that the mistletoe was there until Skye made her move, thus he missed his chance, and got a peck instead of giving a kiss.

Then he was mad at the mistletoe, at himself, and at the whole universe in general. Because he wanted to recreate that moment – them passing under the mistletoe –, only this time him kissing her, but it just didn’t seem to be working. She was just never in the right place (under the mistletoe) at the right time (when he was nearby), and even when these two factors were given, something always went south.

Once he sneezed just as crossing the threshold.

Once Fitz was following her, right behind her.

Once he was simply too afraid to do it.

He was a mess – a so-called super spy who couldn’t even manage to kiss his crush under the mistletoe, no matter how hard he tried.

And he was running out of time – Christmas season was almost over, which meant that the decorations would be up for only a rather limited time. He had to make a move, and fast, or he was missing out on his chance. Or something like that.

But to his luck, he was living on a plane with people who had – occasionally – more common sense than he had, and who were slowly running out of patience. And one of these people was Jemma Simmons.

“You are aware of the fact,” she told him one morning when he was standing in the lab, gazing at the string of mistletoe in an almost pathetic way, “that you don’t need some mistletoe as an excuse to kiss her?”

That made him turn towards her – Jemma could almost see the lightbulbs being turned on inside his head, while the cogwheels started turning –, opened his mouth, then closed it, and, finally, left the lab in a hurry and skipped up the spiral staircase.

Jemma just chuckled to herself – _men_. (Also, she made a vow to herself to get every saucy detail out of Skye later that night.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you might be interested, as of today, I possess an Instragram account – orlissa23


	92. The Best Day

_There is a video_   
_I found from back when I was three_   
_You set up a paint set in the kitchen_   
_And you're talking to me_

Grant was not sure that this was exactly what Skye meant when she had said “keep them occupied”, but he was having a great time nonetheless.

Since Skye unexpectedly had had to report to HQ after lunch that day, he was tasked with looking after both his daughters – the three years old Haylie and the fourteen month old Ada – alone when they woke up after their nap. A rare occurrence – despite having their own house, there always seemed to be an auntie or an uncle around –, but not an unwelcome one.

Grant thrived on fatherhood – he doted on his girls, they were his whole world, and they had him wrapped around their little finger. But, surprisingly enough, he was not the best when it came to discipline – it might have rooted from the fact that he was hell-bent on giving them the childhood he had never had, or it might have been because the girls, especially Haylie, inherited their mother’s eyes, the gaze he had never been able to say no to. And this combination oftentimes led to situations – well, situations like this.

Haylie wanted to paint, and he delivered – paints, brushes, papers, maybe even some glitter, so practically anything he could find at home, laid it out for the girls in the kitchen, and let them have a ball.

It was all nice and dandy in theory, but there was one thing Grant didn’t consider: the way toddlers painted.

Half an hour in, there was practically no surface left in the kitchen that didn’t have a splash of paint on it, the glitter was scattered on the table, the girls had turned into walking-squirming rainbows, and he was almost completely sure he had a tiny, pink handprint on his cheek. But the girls were enjoying themselves, and so was he, so he had no intentions of ending the fun.

Painting, in Ada’s vocabulary, mostly consisted of getting paint on her hands and smearing it on the paper – and her clothes and the table –, while squealing happily. Meanwhile, Haylie was a bit more focused – she actually used a brush, and was making an effort to have her painting actually resemble something (of course she was still covered in paint, too), which had Grant half-believing that his daughter was destined to be an artist.

“What are you painting, princess?” he asked Haylie, crouching down next to her, while keeping an eye on Ada. He was good at dividing his attention, and could handle two girls at once, but right then that was it – Skye entering the house somehow slipped pass by him.

“Family,” Haylie said, putting down her brush, and pointing at her picture. “Daddy,” she pointed at the biggest splotch. “Mommy,” Skye, for some reason, was wearing something bright green on the picture, “Ada and me,” she finished, pointing at two smaller, pink formations, who were, it seemed, holding hands.

“I see,” Grant pointed at the last element of the picture – a small, grey spot. “And what is this?”

Haylie raised her hands to her face (getting paint on her cheeks) in an excited manner, and with a wide grin on her face, she said “Kitty.”

Oh, great. She wanted a cat – an idea he was not that fond of. He was just about try to convince her that they did not need a cat (it was a failed idea, he knew, but he had to try), when Haylie lifted her head and squealed, “Mommy!”, and was already jumping up from her chair, running to the kitchen door, where Skye had been standing – for who knew how long –, with her cellphone in hand, recording the scene in front of her.

Grant stood up as well, picked up Ada from the high chair, and walked over to Skye, who was trying – and failing – to hug Haylie without getting paint on her clothes.

“I see you guys had fun,” she said, propping Haylie on her hip while surveying the kitchen (yeah, he had to admit, it was a disaster)

“Yeah,” he said a bit sheepishly, Ada clinging to his neck. “It went a bit out of hand.”

“You bet.” He could hear that she wanted to scold him, but was too amused by the state she found him in to be actually mad at him. But still, there was a mischievous glint in her eyes that didn’t bode well for him. “You know what? Why don’t I take these two little munchkins up for a bath – before they get paint on everything else in the house –, while you tidy up the kitchen?”

Grant looked around, wincing a little – yeah, he should have thought that cleaning up would fall on him. Nonetheless, he knew that there was only one answer that wouldn’t land him sleeping on the couch tonight.

“Sure, you girls go, I’ll…” he made a vague gesture towards the disaster that was their dining table, “I’ll just get down to work here.”

Skye just smiled at him, eyes twinkling, as she took over Ada as well.

“Good boy,” she said as she turned around to leave, making Haylie giggle. “But Grant?” She turned back for a moment. “These clothes will have to be washed – I think I’ll do it once the girls are asleep, so will you please get out of them by then?” And then she winked.

The kitchen was spotless by the time the PJ clad girls returned – well, mostly spotless. He still found some glitter on his tac gear two weeks later on a mission, although he had no idea how that got there.


	93. Invisible

_I just wanna show you_   
_[He] don’t even know you,_   
_[He’s] never gonna love you like I want to._

Being back on the team has its upsides – being able to do the right thing –, and its downsides – watching Skye and that Lincoln guy acting like doves.

He doesn’t know how much of it is genuine from Skye’s part (to be fair, Lincoln seems pretty smitten with her, although Grant can’t blame him), and how much of it is an act to punish him, but he really doesn’t care.

All he care about is… – damn it. He knows all he should care about is her happiness, but he can’t do that; he is a selfish monster who is not content with Skye simply being happy – he wants her to be happy with him, wants her to see all the things he could give her.

Because, let’s be honest, Lincoln is a joke, just a pawn in this big game of chess, and he might be an Inhuman, like her, but that’s where their similarities end. He has no idea what Skye has been through – the endless search of self and home, the heartbreak, the broken trust. He knows nothing.

Ward, on the other hand, has seen the darkest corners of her soul – because she has shown him. And in return, he showed her his scarlet letters, opening up to her like he did to no-one before. They were on the same plane; they had an understanding, a link – at least they used to be.

He would give everything he has to go back to the simple times.

But now – now he can’t do anything, just watch them and act like he could be happy for them, happy for her, while he is slowly dying inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, it seems like we have two chapters left, but since I like this “publish a little something every day”-thing, I thought out a new project: I have opened my submission page on Tumblr (my name there is orlissa as well), where you can submit pictures – any kind of pictures as long as they are not too graphic –, and I’ll write a drabble to go with them like I did with these songs. These new drabbles, of course, will be published here as well. If you have any questions, please, don’t be shy to ask :)


	94. Sad, Beautiful, Tragic

_In dreams I meet you in warm conversation_   
_We both wake in lonely beds in different cities_   
_And time is taking its sweet time erasing you_   
_And you've got your demons, and, darling, they all look like me_

She still dreams about Ward.

One would think that what plagues her are nightmares – visions of him pointing a gun at her, or her at him, or fateful conversations in the cargo hold, her wrist handcuffed to the stairs; or more obscure images, brought to life by her subconscious, of Ward appearing like a demon, sneering at her and chasing her.

But no. Her dreams of him are more terrible than these, because they are not terrible at all.

It’s always the lounge of the Bus, and the sun is always shining, and she is always happy. They’re sitting by the window, like that time they played battleship, and they are talking – about silly, inane, happy things, like books and movies and how adorably grumpy Fitz is in the morning. They smile and laugh and flirt, and he takes her hand and his fingers are rough but warm, and it feels so real it hurts.

And then she wakes alone in the dark room, and she has to clench her hands into fists to no to cry, because it’s her reality, where Ward is the enemy and she feels empty.

***

She doesn’t know, of course, that the other side of the world Grant Ward wakes from the very same dream, still feeling the silk of her skin on his fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regard of the season finale: yes, I am disappointed in how they handled Ward’s storyline; no, I’m not abandoning neither the show or the ship, mostly because I have faith that the writers are going to correct this mistake and all our pain will be worth in the end (look at how well they handled practically everybody else!). But until then I’ll need a ton fluff to lessen the pain.


	95. Eyes Open

_Everybody's waiting for you to breakdown_   
_Everybody's watching to see the fallout_   
_Even when you're sleeping, sleeping_   
_Keep your ey-eyes open_

Ward felt like he hadn’t rested in years – and in a sense, he hadn’t.

Being a double agent meant being always on alert – you had to pay attention to every word you said, every little bit of information you gave out, because no matter how close you stayed to the truth, one little misstep was enough, and your cover was blown and you were dead. He couldn’t let it happen, so he remained always on alert, giving out as little as he could, staying as far from people as he could. And slept with one eye open.

But he was reaching the end of his strength. Nearly a decade and a half, and looking back he had to realize that he hadn’t actually lived – his life wasn’t even his. It was getting harder and harder to maintain the cover, to be alone, to not to have support – he longed for somebody to talk with, somebody other than Garrett.

He toyed with the idea of getting reckless. Either during a mission, throwing himself in a way of a stray bullet, maybe – who cared if he lived or died? And anyway, could he even call this living? –, or just by giving up his lone wolf persona and forming attachments. He wanted to belong.

He just needed a tipping point.

Then Coulson came, requesting him to join his team (it was all staged, of course, but still; a part of him was actually happy for the opportunity). Then the stoic, enigmatic May, and the loud, happy science duo.

And then Skye – beautiful, compassionate, witty, kind, unattainable Skye. His forbidden fruit.

In the end, she proved to be his tipping point.

And finally, he could rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it folks – at least for now. I know that lyrics pages list more song under her name but I’m afraid most of these are covers, and I don’t wanna use songs that are only exists in bad quality, live recordings. But if you know of more of her original songs in studio quality, please, tell I’M all up for including those, too – the same stands for future songs. But don’t despair: I’ll be back tomorrow with my new, picture-based drabbles :) Until then: thank you! You rock, and it has been an amazing ride :)

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr: orlissa


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